Long Is The Way And Hard
by WillowDryad
Summary: Jess and Slim are on the trail of a pair of murderers, but that's the easy part. This story is COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Jess Harper, Slim Sherman, and all the characters and situations in Laramie belong to their copyright holders and not to me. I feel, at least in respect to Jess Harper, the situation is patently inequitable.**

LONG IS THE WAY AND HARD

"Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light."

— John Milton, _Paradise Lost _

Chapter One

The intruder pulled the collar of his fleece-lined coat up around his ears and pushed his black hat down, shading his face before he stole up to the Laramie bank's front window. Then he pressed his back to the wall and leaned over just enough to peer through the frost-whitened glass. As he'd hoped, there was nobody inside but the teller, Peter Chandler. The lanky kid was sitting at the desk with his back to the door totin' up figures in some ledger book. Perfect.

It took the intruder only a moment to creep to the bank's front door and push it open, careful and silent, barely wide enough to slip through, and then, without a jingle from his spurs, to catfoot it over to the desk.

"Stay right where you are," he growled, low and rough.

The teller's spine stiffened. "What do you want?"

The intruder grinned at the quaver in the young voice but didn't let it show in his own.

"You clean out all the cash in that desk and then open the safe. Get up."

The teller stood and yanked open the drawer nearest his right hand, revealing the pearl-handled derringer inside. Quicker still, the intruder seized his wrist, clamping black-gloved fingers around it.

"Don't try it."

The teller turned, his face ashen, his dark eyes saucer wide. Then he exhaled and shook his head. "Jess."

Jess grinned. "Howdy, Pete."

Pete put his hands on his hips. "You nearly got yourself shot."

"Not hardly, boy. I told you you're too slow yet to try somethin' like that." Jess grinned again. "Any other sidewinder comes in here might not be so friendly-like.

Pete ducked his head. "I know. I know."

"Now, you'll get there. Just takes—"

"Time and practice," Pete finished for him. "I know."

"You're learnin'. I got strict orders from Miss Daisy to ask you to have dinner with us after church on Sunday. And, if you don't fall asleep by the fire like last time, maybe we can get in a little shootin' practice afterwards, too."

Pete's face lit. "You mean it? I've been practicing what you showed me, but I don't think I've got it quite right yet."

"What'd I tell you? Time, practice and . . . ?"

Pete exhaled heavily. "Patience."

"We'll make a westerner outta you yet." Jess swatted his shoulder. "Even if you are a dadgum Yankee."

Pete laughed, reddening a little. "I got out here as quick as I could."

"That just shows you got brains enough to make learnin' you worthwhile. We'll see come Sunday if you know what to do with 'em."

"All right. You tell Miss Daisy I'd be proud to come."

"Good, 'cause if we have company, she always makes somethin' special. Now, is Mr. Simpson in his office?"

"Yeah. I figured you didn't come all this way in the cold just to devil me."

Jess patted his coat pocket. "Slim's seeing to the supplies and sent me over to pay on the ranch note."

"But he usually—" Pete gave him a wry grin. "So you _did_ come all this way just to devil me."

"Asked special."

"Now, Jess—"

"Well, somebody had to warn you."

Pete frowned, his forehead wrinkling. "Warn me?"

"Miss Daisy's got more'n dinner cookin', if you take my meanin'."

Pete's frown deepened.

Jess leaned closer and dropped his voice to a confidential growl. "The Widow Patterson's invited Sunday, too. And her daughter."

There was more than a touch of wickedness in Jess's grin when Pete turned as red as the coals in the bank's potbelly stove. Geneva Patterson was just turned eighteen, sweet-faced and shy, just right for a tongue-tied young greenhorn from Boston to court, and Pete had definitely noticed.

"I reckon Daisy figures since she ain't managed to track down anything for me or Slim yet, she's gotta get somebody married off."

"M-married?"

"Not Sunday, idgit," Jess said. "Just maybe down the road sometime. You like her, doncha?"

"Well, yeah. I like her fine."

"Then you're all set. You come Sunday."

There was an eager light in the kid's calf-brown eyes. "I'll sure be there, Jess." He smiled, a little breathless. "You tell Miss Daisy thank you for me, too."

Jess gave him a nod, and then, removing his hat, he knocked on Mr. Simpson's door.

"Mornin', Mr. Simpson," he said when he was invited in.

The banker's gray moustache twitched when he looked up from his work, but he gave a curt nod. "I'll be right with you."

Jess shut the door behind himself and waited. Simpson took his sweet time finishing up whatever letter he was writing before he finally got back to Jess.

"Now, Mr. Harper. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I come to bring you Slim's payment owin' on the ranch."

Simpson's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Sherman generally handles the money himself."

_So's I don't steal it, is that it? _Jess felt a scowl coming on, and some hot words tried to leap right out of his mouth, but he put on an expression of angelic innocence instead.

"Well, Mr. Simpson, if you'd as soon not have it, I can always tell Slim to bring it over to you himself. Next month."

He smiled sweetly, and Simpson began to sputter.

"Now, Mr. Harper, there's no need to be hasty. Naturally, in my capacity here at the bank, it is, of course, my job to receive—"

Simpson broke off. Jess's smile vanished, and he turned at the sound of harsh voices on the other side of the door. He took a wary step forward, and then there was the rapid report of two different guns, a heavy fall, and running feet. Jess's pistol leapt to his hand.

"Stay here!" he barked at Simpson, and he threw the door open.

The two robbers were already out the front door, and Jess took three running steps after them. Then he saw Pete lying in his own blood there in front of the desk. The little pearl-handled derringer lay on the floor near his hand.

"Simpson! Get out here! Pete's hit!"

Simpson was already hurrying to the kid. Jess had to stop those men. Outside, a woman was screaming that the bank had been robbed, and he bolted out into the chaos of street in time to see the two outlaws galloping away. Mort was already on the boardwalk, trying to take down the bandits with his pistol, bellowing for men to ride with him. A couple of ranchers were running his way. Some of the store owners were firing at the robbers. Jess fired after them, too, four, five, six times, until his empty gun clicked and a firm hand pushed his arm to his side.

"Save your ammo for when it counts." Slim nodded toward the scrambling posse. "I brought our horses."

Jess grabbed his vest. "I gotta get the doctor. They shot Pete. Bad."

Slim looked around the chaotic street and called to the bartender peering out of the front door of the Stockmen's Palace Saloon. "Sam! Get Doc Hanson! Hurry!"

Sam sped off.

Mort turned his horse their way. "Slim! Jess! You comin'?"

Jess snatched Traveller's reins from Slim. "Comin'!"

"Harper."

Jess turned to see Simpson standing in the door of the bank. He was in his shirt-sleeves now. His cuffs were stained and there was blood smeared on his shirtfront.

"He's asking for you," Simpson said, his eyes wide with shock and his voice none too steady.

Jess dropped the reins and ran inside with Slim on his heels. Simpson had rolled up his New-York-made coat to put under Pete's head, and he'd used his embroidered waistcoat to try to stanch the blood pouring from Pete's chest. The banker himself was hunkered down on the floor again, trying still to stop the bleeding, his face near as white as his teller's.

"Jess?" Pete murmured, his eyes fluttering open.

Jess dropped to his knees at Pete's side, wincing when he looked under the sodden waistcoat and saw the ruined shirt and welling wound beneath. "You hang on now, boy. Doc Hanson's coming. He'll get you fixed up."

"Did they— Did they get away with all the money?"

"I don't know. Don't you worry about that now. The sheriff'll take care of it. Heck, he's already after 'em. He'll have 'em locked up before suppertime. You just lie still."

"But I didn't—"

"You did all you could," Jess said. "Can't ask more'n that of any man. Now Mr. Simpson here's gonna see to you just fine till the doc comes, and Slim and me are gonna get after those sidewinders who shot you. You promise me you'll be waitin' when we get back."

"Jess," Pete breathed.

Jess grabbed his bloodied hand. "Promise."

Pete nodded, his eyes sliding closed again. "Get after them. I'm fine."

He took a breath and then just stopped. Jess tightened his hold, sure that breath was his last, but then Pete exhaled and seemed to breathe a little easier afterward.

"I'll see to him till Dr. Hanson comes," Simpson said, his voice still none too steady.

Slim squeezed Jess's shoulder. "The doc'll be here soon."

Jess shoved himself to his feet and went out again to the street. He gathered Traveller's reins in one hand and reached the other up to his saddle when he heard a familiar step behind him.

"We'll get 'em," Slim said.

Jess didn't turn to face him, too furious, too scared to speak. He only took hold of the pommel and put his foot in the stirrup.

Slim clasped his shoulder once again. "We'll get 'em, Jess."

Jess clung more tightly to the saddle, still seeing Pete lying in his blood, and then he mounted up. An instant later, he was galloping toward the posse.

Slim spurred after him.

OOOOO

Jess, Slim, Mort and the two ranchers, Dan Hendricks and his oldest boy, Trey, rode out of Laramie, following the clear tracks in the recent snow. The two outlaws had taken the road west, and then they'd veered off into the open country and up into the hills. The posse plowed after them, their horses churning knee-deep in snow and their breath coming in white plumes from their nostrils.

"Runnin' won't help 'em any," Jess growled, narrowing his eyes at the sinking sun when the sheriff called a halt.

"I'm sorry, Jess," Mort said."We've got to head back now."

Jess turned on him with a hissing intake of breath. "Back?"

"Use your head, boy. We're not set up for a long hunt. We've got no supplies. No equipment. It'll be dark soon, and there's more snow coming on. The horses are worn out. We'll do better to go back to town and start fresh in the morning with the things we need."

"You go on back then," Jess spat. "I'm keepin' after 'em. You comin', Slim?"

"Mort's right." Slim reached over to catch Traveller's bridle. "Those men'll be caught in the storm. They can't get much farther, and we can't track in the dark. We'll catch up to them tomorrow or next day."

His breath coming fast and hard, Jess tried to pull his horse away, but Slim wouldn't let go.

"There's no use killing ourselves and our mounts for nothing, Jess. Do you want to catch those men or let 'em get away because we're too cold and hungry to catch 'em once we find 'em?"

His jaw clenched tight, Jess shoved Slim's hand off Traveller's bridle. For a long moment, he stared down the line of torn-up snow that marked the outlaws' trail, knowing the white was swiftly turning blue with the coming darkness. Then he turned his horse and spurred back toward town.

OOOOO

Jess didn't say a word on that ride back. The fear and fury he'd felt on the ride out of Laramie had only grown deeper and stronger by the time he rode in again, whipping him like the icy winds that had been picking up since night had fallen. Mort and the two Hendricks men stopped off at the sheriff's office to plan for the next morning. Big flakes of snow began to fall as Jess rode past, headed for Doc Hanson's. Slim stuck with him.

A lamp was burning in the upstairs window of the doctor's office, and there was a little hope to be had in that. Doc wouldn't have a light up there if his patient wasn't still alive. There'd be no reason for it.

Jess dismounted, and Slim did, too

"You might as well bunk at the jail," Jess said, "if you're plannin' on going in the mornin'."

"I am, but I thought I'd come with you for now."

"Slim, you don't have to—"

"Look, Jess, Pete's my friend, too. I'd like to know how he's doin' as much as you would."

Jess let out a tight breath that froze in front of him. He knew that. "Sorry."

Slim put a hand on Jess's shoulder and walked with him to the door. In answer to his knock, the upper window flew open.

"Who's down there?" the doctor called.

Slim took a step backward to put himself in view. "It's Slim and Jess."

"Come on up before you freeze. It's not locked."

There was only a single lamp lit in the front parlor that served as the doctor's waiting room. It illuminated the stairs enough for Jess and Slim to make their way to the second floor.

Doc Hanson was waiting for them, concern on his lined face. "Did you catch those men?"

Jess pressed his lips together, knowing if he answered, he'd say something he shouldn't.

"Not yet," Slim said. "We'll be going out again in the morning."

"How's Pete?" Jess asked, forcing all emotion out of his voice.

"Hanging on," the doctor said. "He's been conscious the past few minutes."

"Can we see him?"

The doctor looked from Jess to Slim and then back to Jess. "I guess it can't do much harm now."

They followed him to the room he'd just come from, a stark room with only a bed, a dresser, a washstand and a couple of ladder-back chairs, but there was a stout fire in the fireplace, and it was warm. Pete was lying in the bed, his chest bandaged, his face ghost-white and slack.

The doctor picked up the pitcher from the washstand. "I need to get some fresh water. I'll be right back."

Jess took off his hat, gloves and coat and sat down beside the bed under the soft glow of the lamp. "Pete?"

"That you, Jess?" Pete breathed, opening his calf-brown eyes.

"Yeah, Pete. How you makin' out?"

"Had better days," Pete admitted. "Sorry I didn't have a little more time and practice, but you can't say I didn't try."

Jess clutched his thin shoulder, too choked for a moment to say anything, and then he shook it almost roughly. "Dadgum fool, why'd you try it? Why didn't you just let 'em have the money? We coulda got it back."

"Didn't—" Pete started to wheeze. "Didn't want you— to think I was s-scared. Not anymore."

Jess looked over at Slim, a silent, urgent plea in his expression, and Slim darted out of the room.

"Now, don't get yourself worked up, boy." Jess squeezed his forearm. "Slim's gone after the doc. You're gonna be all right. You're gonna be—"

With a soft gasp, the wheezing stopped. Jess's grip tightened. Then there were swift footsteps on the stairs.

"Jess?"

He didn't turn at Slim's low voice. He didn't turn when the doctor pushed him aside so he could feel his patient's pulse. He didn't turn.

Dr. Hanson sighed. "I'm sorry, boys. He lost too much blood. I couldn't save him."

"You did your best, Doc," Slim said low. "We know that."

Jess balled his hands into fists and, without a word, tore down the stairs and into the swirling snow. Everything inside him was burning, and even the bitter cold couldn't quench the flames. He wanted to pound his fists on the frozen ground until the pain in his hands blotted out every other kind of pain. He wanted to go over to the Stockmen's Palace and smash the mirror behind the bar, shoot out the lamps, and prod the dirtiest tough in the place into a fight. He wanted to jump on his horse and ride until he couldn't anymore, until he couldn't see Pete laughing because Jess had come to the bank especially to devil him or blushing over Geneva Patterson or lying on the floor with his life seeping out of him and that derringer next to his hand, that stupid little derringer he didn't know how to use. He wanted to—

"Jess?"

Jess took a hard breath.

"You forgot these."

He turned to see Slim offering him his hat and coat. He didn't need them. He couldn't feel the cold. He took them anyway, just holding them as the snow settled in his hair and on his shoulders and melted down the back of his neck.

"Come on, pard."

Patient and gentle as if he'd been looking after Mike, Slim put Jess's hat on his head and helped him into his coat. Jess kept his eyes on Dr. Hanson's second floor window. It was dark now.

Slim fished in Jess's pockets and took out the lined gloves. "Put 'em on."

Jess did as he was told.

"With this weather, Daisy'll be expecting us to stay the night in town. We'd better see if Mort has some hot coffee and a couple of bunks for us." Slim tugged his arm. "Come on now."

The snow was getting heavier, the wind stronger, but Jess didn't move.

Slim turned him away from the doctor's house. "We'll get 'em, Jess."

"Yeah," Jess muttered. "Okay."

They went to the livery stable where they left their horses for some well deserved food, warmth and rest. Then Jess trudged behind Slim through the snow, past the music and laughter coming from the Palace and from Windy's, past the dark, shuttered bank, and toward the wan light in the sheriff's office. They'd get 'em, no matter what it took, but Pete would still be dead.

And it would still be Jess's fault.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi! It's me again. Jess always seems to tell me stories when I'm busiest with other things, but you know how insistent he can be, and who could tell him no? So here's a new adventure. I'll be posting this as it's written, but I'll try to not take too much time in between chapters. Your comments as this goes along are always encouraging, inspiring, and motivating. For those of you who prefer to read the whole story at once, I'll will mark this complete when it's finished. Whenever you get to it, thanks for reading. Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When Slim and Jess got to the sheriff's office, Dan and Trey Hendricks were already gone.

"They went on home to get supplies and gear for tomorrow," Mort explained. "How's the boy?"

"Dead."

The one word was all Jess could manage, and it lay there, stark and grim, between the three of them.

"Doc said he lost too much blood," Slim said after a moment, solemn with his own grief. "Not much he could do."

Mort shook his head. "Now that's a shame. He was a nice kid even if he was green as grass. Simpson was by here earlier, after he'd gone by the doc's. He was hoping Pete'd make it. Doc couldn't tell him a lot then, so he didn't much know."

"What did Mr. Simpson say about the money?" Slim asked.

"Less than a hundred," Mort said, his lip curled. "Just what was in the desk. They never got to the safe or any of the cash drawers. I guess they weren't expecting Pete to give 'em any trouble, and they hightailed it out with what they could grab."

Jess shoved his hands into his coat pockets, not wanting Mort or Slim that they had tightened into fists. Less than a hundred dollars. The price of a young man's life.

Mort ran one hand through his graying hair and then squinted at the front windows. "That snow's comin' hard. Dan said you two are welcome to come out to his ranch for the night since it's so much closer than yours, but I told him you could just as easy come to my place here in town."

"I'll stay here the night," Jess said, his eyes on his snow-crusted boots. "This'll do as well as any. If you don't mind."

He knew Mort was bound to be looking over at Slim to see what he thought.

"We'll stay here," Slim said. "No need mussing up things at your house."

Jess glanced up, catching the worried look between the two of them.

Mort cleared his throat. "You know, I haven't had much since breakfast this morning. Why don't we go across the street and get something hot to eat before they close up? Maybe some pie to top it off." He clapped Jess on the shoulder. "What do you say?"

"I'd as soon have coffee," Jess said, and he went to stand by the stove.

Slim came over to him. "There'll be coffee over at Maud's, Jess. Come on. I'll buy."

Jess picked up the coffee pot, letting the warmth seep through his gloves and into his hands. "You and Mort go on ahead. I'll just take a bunk in one of the cells."

He glanced at Mort for his approval and saw concern in his dark eyes. In Slim's, too.

"You know what my pa always told me," Slim said. "An empty sack won't stand."

Jess was too tired to tussle with them over it.

"Sure," he said with a tight smile. "Might as well."

Maud at the restaurant looked a little surprised to see them.

"We haven't had much business and were about to close up," she said, drawing her shawl a little closer around her shoulders against the bitter wind.

Slim shut the door after them all, and the three men went to warm themselves at the stove in the corner.

"We'll have to head out early in the morning," Mort told her. "Figured we ought to have something fortifying before we do."

"Oh, the posse." She glanced at Jess and then looked away. "I heard Pete Chandler died. I'm sorry. He was a nice kid."

Nice kid. They could put that on Pete's tombstone.

"You three take a seat wherever you'd like, "Maud said. "The special is chicken and dumplings. I'll see how much we've got left."

She disappeared into the kitchen, and the three men sat at the table in the corner, the one most out of the wind next time the front door opened.

Maud came back with bread and butter and coffee and a smile on her pretty face. "There's still plenty of chicken," she said, "even for you, Jess."

Jess put both hands around his cup. "This is enough."

"Three specials," Slim told her, putting the money on the table. "And thanks."

Mort nodded. "That'll just hit the spot, Maudie."

She looked uncertain, but she swept up the money and tucked it into her skirt pocket before vanishing into the back again.

"I hope you're hungry," Jess growled. "At least hungry enough to eat all that food you paid for."

"I'll have help." Slim took a piece of bread, buttered it, and put it on Jess's plate. "Start with that."

"Go on, boy," Mort said gently. "Do you want to get after those men in the morning or make yourself sick?"

Jess glared at him and then snatched up the buttered bread. "Leave it to you, sheriff, to carry on makin' sense."

Mort took some bread for himself, his expression hardening. "We'll get 'em, Jess."

We'll get 'em. Sure they would. Jess would see to that or die trying, but did it matter? Pete was dead, no amount of bullets or gallows would change that. But Jess knew there was more to this than vengeance. There were the others whose lives would be in danger if these men weren't stopped. They'd rob and kill again. Maybe he and Slim and the rest of the posse couldn't do anything for Pete now, but they could stop these outlaws before anyone else was hurt.

When Maud brought the chicken and dumplings, Jess ate everything on his plate, even though all of it tasted like sawdust. Tomorrow he'd be ready to ride.

OOOOO

The snow had turned to sleet by the time Jess walked back across the street to the sheriff's office with Mort and Slim. The three of them huddled in their coats, heads ducked into the wind, fighting to hold their collars closed and their hats on.

"I tell you what, boys," Mort said when they were finally inside. "I think I'll just stay here the night, too. My ol' bones were tellin' me all the way across the street that I didn't want to walk back home in that mess."

"That's fine, Mort," Slim said. "That'll make it easier for us to get started quick in the morning."

"If we get started," Jess said.

Mort's nod was grim. "It looks bad out, but I say that's all the better for us. If we can't move, neither can they. And if they're holed up somewhere in those hills like we expect they are, they'll have a pretty miserable time of it. Don't know about you two, but I can't say that doesn't make me kinda happy."

Mort was right, of course, but that didn't mean Jess had to like it. He hated the wait. He hated being caged up here when every bit of him wanted to tear up into those hills and shoot those murderers down like the mongrel dogs they were. The thought of them lyin' dead brought him no comfort, but it was better than thinking of Pete right now.

Pete probably wasn't over at Mr. Birdsong's funeral parlor yet, but he soon would be, laid out in a box in that shed of his until the ground thawed enough to have a buryin'. No, that was only Pete's body, not Pete. Not Pete himself. _God, you gotta have mercy on somebody like him. You gotta— _

"Jess?"

Startled, Jess turned. Slim was holding out a cup of coffee.

"It'll warm you up."

"Yeah," Jess muttered, taking it. "Thanks."

"Mort?" Slim asked, holding out another cup.

"You take that one," Mort said. "I'll get some after I bring in some more wood. We're gonna need it tonight."

"No, you take it, Mort." Jess gulped down the scalding coffee in this cup and got to his feet. "I'll get the wood."

"I'll go, too," Slim said.

"No."

The word came out harder than Jess had meant it to, and Slim's eyebrows went up.

"I just—" Jess wiped one hand over his eyes. "Just let me, all right?"

"Okay, pard. Let me know if you need some help."

He handed Mort the cup he had originally offered and then poured himself one.

Jess managed a tight smile. "Don't drink it all before I get back."

The wind outside was merciless, slicing through him as if he were wearing nothing but his longjohns as he scrambled to grab a generous armload of wood. Slim must have been watching for him, because the back door opened before he had a chance to try to open it himself.

"Give me those!" Slim shouted over the piercing wind. "And come in before you freeze!"

Jess dumped the wood into his arms and immediately turned back toward the woodpile.

"Jess! What are you doing?"

"Be right back!"

The next time he reached the door, it was Mort who opened it for him.

"Get in here," the sheriff barked, bolting the door behind him. "I swear, I oughta lock you in one of those cells instead of just letting you sleep in it. Now, get over by that stove."

Jess added his armload of wood to the stack Slim had already made and took the chair Mort pulled over by the stove for him. Slim shoved another cup of coffee into his hands. They both glared at him.

"Ease off," he muttered, glad for both the fire and the hot drink. "I figured it was easier to get more after I was already cold than have to go out in the middle of the night for it."

Jess sank down into his coat, nursing his cup of coffee along while Slim and Mort made plans for the morning's manhunt. He didn't feel the need to add anything to their conversation. They knew what they were doing. And, sure, they had to try to bring the outlaws back alive, and waiting for a rope would probably be harder on them than a quick kill. But the tempting thought of gunning them down the way they'd done Pete burned colder through him than the knife-bladed wind outside.

"Dan and Trey ought to be in at first light," Mort said. "If the storm's stopped by then."

"And if we aren't snowed in." Slim poured himself another cup of coffee. "You might have us for company another day or two."

Mort narrowed his eyes. "Just stay out of that bottom drawer in my desk. It's gotta last."

Slim grinned, and so did Mort.

"No, now, you boys are welcome. I'm glad of the company, even if I am sorry for the reason."

Jess sank down further into his chair.

"I remember when Pete showed up in town this summer," Mort said, leaning back in his chair. "I couldn't figure why he even came out west here, jumpy as he was, but he had plenty of pluck, too, and he wasn't afraid to ask questions if he didn't know somethin'."

"Yeah," Slim said. "Remember when he first saw you, Jess, and he was sure you were a notorious outlaw?"

"Yeah," Jess said half under his breath.

Jess had been in the Stockmen's Palace having a beer with Kyle Pridemore, one of the stage drivers, while he waited for the supply wagon to come in with a fresh batch of ten-penny nails for the general store. They'd stepped outside to go over and check when Pete stumbled into Jess coming down the boardwalk.

"Sorry, mister," Pete said, snatching the bowler hat from his head and clutching it in both hands against his fancy green checked suit. "That was my fault. I wasn't looking and—"

His eyes widened when he looked Jess full in the face, and his knuckles went white with holding on to his hat so hard. Jess could only return the look, puzzled. He'd seen Pete early that morning when he'd help change the teams for the westbound stage. Except for the eager half-terrified, half-delighted expression that marked the kid as a greenhorn, Jess hadn't particularly noticed him.

"You'd better watch it there, boy," Kyle said, giving Jess a little nudge in the ribs with his elbow. "Didn't I tell you already who this is?"

Owl-eyed, Pete nodded. "Y-yessir. I-I saw you this morning at the relay station, Mr. Harper. I didn't mean any offense."

Jess could tell by the overly concerned look on Kyle's face that, during the stage's stop at the ranch, he'd convinced the kid that Jess was some desperate outlaw who shot down anybody who even breathed wrong. A quick glance toward the general store told Jess the supply wagon hadn't come in yet. He had a few spare minutes.

He pushed back his hat and, hands on hips, looked the kid over with cold, narrowed eyes. "And just what's your name, mister?"

"Pete." The kid swallowed hard. "Peter Chandler."

"I see you ain't packin' iron. Where's your gun?"

"I d-don't have one," Pete stammered.

"Then I expect Kyle here'll have to let you use his."

"Well, sure," Kyle said. "Wouldn't be right for you to shoot an unarmed man, Jess. That'd get you put in jail for a day or two."

Pete's chin quivered, and then he lifted it and looked Jess straight in the eye. "Now, Mr. Harper, I told you I was sorry, and I am. But I don't know the first thing about guns, and I'm not fool enough to face somebody like you."

"And just what's somebody like me?" Jess demanded, putting a snarl in his voice and letting his hand hover near his gun.

Pete nodded toward Kyle. "Well, he told me you'd killed nearly two hundred men, most of them lawmen, and that you were only working at that relay station until your brother gets out of prison next week so you two could carry on with your lawless ways."

"I had to warn him," Kyle said earnestly.

Jess rubbed his left hand over his mouth, trying to look thoughtful and not laugh. "Then I reckon there's only one thing for me to do, right, Kyle?"

"Now, Jess, don't be that way. He said he's sorry. Why don't you just let it be now?"

"Nope," Jess said. "We got enough a these tinhorns comin' out here, trampin' around like they own the place. I aim for this one to get the kind of welcome he deserves."

Pete straightened his shoulders, still looking Jess in the eye, terrified but facing it out.

Jess looked him over again, pulling his black gloves tight and once more narrowing his eyes. "I'm gonna give you to the count of three—"

"Now, Jess," Kyle pled.

"Stand clear, Pridemore. Don't get in my way." Jess settled into his gunfighter stance, never taking his eyes off Pete. "Now, I'm gonna give you to the count of three . . . to come inside and let me buy you a beer."

Kyle snickered, and Jess couldn't hold back a grin any longer.

Pete's face went from white to red. "You mean—"

"We was just funnin' you, boy," Kyle said, slapping him on the back.

Jess held out his hand. "You got gumption, I gotta give you that. No hard feelin's?"

Pete finally smiled and gave his hand a firm shake. "Gosh, no. But, Mr. Harper—"

"Now if you don't start callin' me Jess, I _will_ shoot you."

Pete laughed a little. "Jess, then, but what Kyle said—"

"No, I ain't shot no two hundred lawmen nor none a that other hogwash Kyle give you. I'm just a regular ol' tame ranch hand. Now come on in and let me get you that beer I owe you. If you ain't the dadgumdest tenderfoot I ever seen . . . "

Jess had been late getting back to the ranch that day, though he conveniently blamed that on the supply wagon being late coming in. At least he had until Mose complained to Slim about having to hunt Kyle down at the Palace so the afternoon stage run wouldn't be late. Slim had only laughed when Jess told him the whole story. Pretty soon Daisy was in on it, and then Pete had to come to Sunday dinner a time or two, and that pretty much settled things. Until now.

"Yeah, Slim," Jess said. "I remember." He looked into his still-half-full coffee cup and then drank it down. "If you don't mind, Mort, I think I'm gonna go ahead and turn in."

"That's a good idea for all of us," Mort said. "Hendricks and his boy'll be in early. I'll put that extra bunk up."

Before long they all turned in, Mort in one cell and Jess and Slim in the other. Slim was in the spare bunk next to the bars between the two cells, and Jess had the one against the back wall. Mort had put out the lamp, and there was only the glow from the stove to give any relief to the darkness.

Jess lay still, listening to the storm, waiting until he heard soft snores from the other two. Then he sat huddled in the corner with his coat still on and his blanket around him, tired but unable to sleep, just thinking. He'd only wanted to devil Pete when he came into the bank this morning. He hadn't known that would be the last time he really got to talk to him.

"Gotta tell Geneva."

He didn't realize he'd said that aloud until Slim stirred in his bunk and sat up.

"Jess?" he whispered. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Sorry," Jess whispered back. "Don't wake Mort."

He saw a tall shadow leave the cell and then bend over the blacker shadow that was Mort's desk. There was the surreptitious sound of a drawer opening and closing and the soft clank of tin cups. Then the tall shadow came back into the cell and sat on Jess's bunk.

"What was that about Geneva?" Slim asked, his voice very low.

"Gotta tell her. About Pete."

"Likely she's heard."

Jess let out a soft breath. "Yeah."

He heard Slim pouring something into the cups, and the acrid smell of whiskey hit his nose. He took the cup pressed into his hands.

"I forgot," he said, reaching into his coat pocket. "I never gave you back the money you gave me to pay on the ranch. Mr. Simpson never got it, never even got a chance to squawk over it."

Slim took the money. "I'll see to it when I get a chance. Maybe I'd better leave it here before we go in the morning. In case something happens."

Jess didn't like to think of that.

"You know, for all I grouch about him, Simpson did as best he could with Pete. Didn't even mind ruining that fancy vest of his tryin' to keep Pete from bleedin' out. I didn't think the old pinchpenny had it in him."

"I think he was about as fond of Pete as the rest of us," Slim said. "I don't know of anybody who didn't like him."

"Yeah."

Jess didn't say anything else.

"You drink that," Slim said after a minute or so. "It'll warm you up and help you sleep."

"I can't sleep. And I can't drink this away. If it was me or you, we could take care of ourselves. Pete, he was just a kid. He didn't have a chance."

"Jess—"

"Pete's dead because I tried to teach him to be a gunman."

"No," Slim said. "Pete's dead because those men wanted that bank money bad enough to kill him for it. You were trying to teach him to protect himself. No, he wasn't ready, but that's not your fault. What were you always telling him? It takes time and practice. He didn't have enough of either. None of that's your fault. Did you tell him to keep that derringer in his drawer?"

"I didn't know he had it till this mornin'."

"Did you tell him to use it?"

"I told him he wasn't ready. But, Slim—" There was a sudden tightness in Jess's throat that almost wouldn't let the words get out. "He thought it was me. He must have. When I first went in there to pay the ranch note, I snuck up on him all quiet-like and told him to give me all the money. He tried to pull that derringer before he knew who it was. He didn't even get it out of the drawer before I stopped him, and I know he'd a wanted to try again, to beat me for once. They wouldn't a had to shoot him if he hadn't pulled that gun. He wouldn't a had that gun if I hadn't tried to teach him to use one. He wouldn't a been— He wouldn't—"

He rubbed his eyes and took a ragged breath.

Slim put one hand over the one Jess had around his cup, lifting it a little. "Drink that, pard. Tomorrow's gonna be here before you know it. We'll get 'em."

They both drained their cups, and Slim slipped back over to the desk to put the bottle back where it belonged. Then Jess heard him settle back into his bunk. Jess stayed curled up in the corner where he was.

_We'll get 'em. I promise, Pete, we'll get 'em._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I missed the weekend by seven minutes. I'd love to know what you think anyway.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

All that long night, Jess had huddled in the corner of the cell, listening to Mort and Slim tossing and snoring in their bunks, waiting for the storm to die, waiting for dawn. When at last it came, pale and wan as if it had spent the last two weeks sick in bed, he'd finally sunk into sleep. It was only Slim's soft voice that woke him.

"Let me make some coffee first," he was telling Mort out by the stove. "I don't think he slept an hour all night."

"He's gotta get something in him besides coffee." Mort's voice was little more than a low grumble. "That boy—"

"How 'bout I go over and get us all some breakfast? Dan and Trey'll be in before long, and they'll be wantin' to get goin'."

"Maud's won't be open yet,' Mort said.

"I can go down to the boarding house. Mrs. Kenley'll be up and around. She won't mind fixin' us up."

"You do that. Tell her I'll settle with her later. I'll make the coffee."

"Fair enough," Slim said, and Jess heard the soft sound of his friendly swat on Mort's shoulder. "I'll be back."

Jess heard the front door open and was surprised to not feel a sudden icy blast needle through him, coat and blanket and all. He opened his eyes a crack and squinted through the barred widow. Everything he could see was still. The wind was gone and had scoured away a considerable portion of the snow before it left. Nothing to keep the posse from heading up into the hills.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and licked his dry lips. Coffee would be some good by about now. He shuffled over to the stove and looked into the coffee pot.

Mort batted his hand away. "Let it alone. I just put it on."

Jess scowled at him and stumbled to a chair. "When do you think we'll be headed out?"

"Slim'll be back with breakfast before long. As soon as we eat and get Hendricks and his boy in here, we'll get started."

"I don't want Trey goin'."

Mort's graying brows came together. "Why not?"

"He's too young."

"He's what? Nineteen? Twenty? Plenty growed. He knows how to use a gun, how to follow sign. He was raised on that ranch hardly more'n a mile from here. He's no greenhorn. You've been in posses with him before. He do somethin' wrong?"

Jess set his face in hard lines and went over to the water bucket that was kept near the stove to keep it from freezing. He splashed his face and ran his wet hands through his hair and felt a little less sleep-addled afterward. Then he strapped on his gun belt and checked his gun. A quick spin of the chamber told him it was still loaded.

"Got some shells I could carry with me?" he asked the sheriff.

Mort went to his desk, grabbed a box from a drawer and handed it over.

Jess slipped it into his pocket. "Thanks. Where's Slim?"

"He'll be back quick enough."

Jess stalked over to the window to look, but the street was still empty. Where was Slim? Where were Dan and Trey?"

Mort only shook his head at him and then shoved a cup of coffee into his hands. "Drink that. Maybe it'll make you a little less growly."

Jess nodded and took a drink, pacing as he did. Mort busied himself with his own pistol and rifle and then loaded up two more rifles for Slim and Jess. Then he sat by the stove with his coffee, his dark eyes taking in Jess's every stride.

"Jess?" he said finally.

Jess stopped in front of him, eyebrows curved up questioningly.

"If you don't light somewhere, boy, I'm gonna put you back in that cell and lock it up." He tugged an empty chair closer to his own. "Come sit down."

Jess sat, drinking his coffee in silence. He didn't even realize he was bouncing his leg until Mort put a hand on his knee, stilling him.

"I swear, I'll lock you up, Jess."

Jess ducked his head. "Sorry."

Mort's expression softened just the slightest bit. "Slim'll be back, son. We'll be goin' soon enough."

It helped that Slim brought the food back just a couple of minutes later, fried ham and eggs, cornmeal mush, fresh biscuits and butter. It wasn't any too warm by the time Slim got it from the boarding house to the jail, but it would do. Again, Jess made himself eat, knowing he'd need something in him for the long ride ahead. They were just finishing when Dan and Trey showed up with everything they needed for the trail.

Jess looked Trey Hendricks over as his father and Mort talked and Slim went to the livery stable for the horses. He was a sturdy kid, as sandy-haired and brown-eyed as his father, tough enough for ranch life, no tenderfoot. A man by anyone's standard. Still, he gave Jess that same eager-eyed look Pete had done, like somehow it was a privilege to light out on a manhunt with him. It hadn't bothered Jess the last time. He'd just laughed it off, but now . . .

"Somethin' wrong, Jess?" Trey asked him.

Jess only shook his head. "What'd your ma say about all this?"

Trey's forehead wrinkled. "Ma? She said we ought to stay warm and be careful. You know how mas are."

Jess didn't much know about mas and hadn't for a long while. He knew how Daisy was, though, and she'd a said the same thing. And she'd a given him that sweet smile that didn't quite cover the worry whenever he and Slim headed out on something like this. He didn't suppose anyone had carried the news out to her at the ranch. Maybe she'd just think they were snowed in for awhile in town. Maybe she needn't worry until this was all done with.

"Yeah," Jess said, drinking down the last of his coffee and leaving the cup on Mort's desk. "You mind what she said."

"Saddle up, boy," Dan called to his son as Slim brought the horses around. "Day's a-wastin'."

Trey hurried on out behind his father, and Mort nodded toward Jess.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

OOOOO

It took them a while to make it back to where they had last seen the murderers' trail. Jess was sure this was the area even though most everything looked different. There was still snow, but it wasn't deep and feathery the way it had been the day before. The wind had cleaned it off leaving only what was packed and icy, making travel slow and difficult. The only consolation was that the outlaws had to be facing the same conditions and wouldn't be moving fast either.

They stopped a little past noon to feed and rest the horses and eat something quick.

"I'm not sure this is doing us any good," Mort said, shading his eyes as he scanned the hills still above them and then the town below. "We know they're up in here somewhere, but they must have found a place to hole up last night. Either that, or we'll find 'em up here sometime during the next thaw."

Jess clenched his jaw. "What are you sayin', Mort? You wanna go back again?"

"No, now, just hear me out. There are a couple of cabins up here and some caves farther on. I'm thinkin' maybe we'd best split up and check those. Any of us sees sign of those men can let the others know and we'll all take 'em. Fair enough?"

"That sounds all right," Slim said. "Jim Mitchell's place is up this way, Jess. Why don't we see what he knows? It ought to be about dark when we get there, and I know by then I'll be ready for some supper and a warm place to sleep."

Dan nodded. "And Mort and I can go on over to the Prescott cabin a little ways east and then meet up later halfway between 'em. Over by those caves above that pine grove."

"All right," Mort said. "Are we set?"

There was a general murmur of agreement. Jess didn't join in, but he figured it was as good a plan as any. If they had to stop the night somewhere, Mitchell's was as good as any.

"I'll go up with Slim and Jess," Trey said.

Slim grinned a little.

"No," Jess spat.

Trey blinked at him. "But why not? What'd I do?"

"Just stay with your pa." Jess busied himself with the cinch on Traveller's saddle. "You can do your courtin' some other time."

Trey scowled at him. "I'm not going to see Sally Mitchell. I'm going to help track down the men who killed Pete."

"Then stay with Mort and your pa."

Trey pressed his lips together, looking like he wanted to say something else, but he only went over to his horse and stood next to Mort. Mort shot Jess a hard look, but he didn't say anything.

"Come on, Trey," Dan said. "I told your ma we'd stick together anyway."

"Let's get goin'," Jess said, mounting up. "We're wastin' daylight."

"We'll see you soon, Mort," Slim said, getting into his own saddle. "Dan. Trey. Keep your eyes open."

"See ya, Slim," Trey said, and that was all.

He and Mort and Dan rode up east. Slim and Jess went west.

OOOOO

"You coulda gone easier on him, Jess."

Jess kept his eyes on the trail leading father into the hills, not needing to look back at Slim to know who he was talking about. "He's better off with his pa."

Slim didn't say anything else right away, but Jess knew he wasn't done yet. They rode on, watching the shadows of the trees stretch longer and longer toward the east, feeling the temperature sink with the sun.

Slim pulled his coat collar tighter and brought his horse up alongside Traveller. "It wouldn't have hurt anything for Trey to come along with us."

"If Mort wants to nursemaid him, that's his business. I ain't got time."

"You know better than that," Slim said, his blond brows lowering. "And you know that's not why you didn't want him with us."

Jess nudged Traveller's sides, urging him to pick up the pace a little. Slim didn't take the hint. He stayed at Jess's side.

"Look, Jess, I know Trey's about Pete's age, but he was raised here. He knows what he's doing as good as Dan. As good as any of us. And any one of us might not come back from this hunt. You know that as well as I do. He knows it, too. He came into this with his eyes open, just like the rest of us. And if something happens to him, it'll be a shame, but it won't be your fault, all right?"

"Didn't say it would be," Jess muttered mostly under his breath.

"You didn't have to. I know you're hurtin' over Pete gettin' killed. I know you don't want something like that to happen again, but there's only so much you can do. I trust you with my life, Jess, and I know if something happens to me that you'd have done everything you could to help me, more than anybody else I know."

Jess didn't reply to that. Sure he would, and he knew Slim would do the same for him.

"But there's only so much you can do." Slim pulled Alamo a little ahead and then turned him, making Traveller come to a stop, forcing Jess to look him in the eye. "No matter how hard you try, Jess, you can't keep things from happening. Not as long as there are thieves and murderers like the ones we're after in the world."

Jess glowered until Slim turned Alamo straight and started him walking again. Before long, the smell of chimney smoke wafted toward them, and they came up on Jim Mitchell's place, a snug little cabin sheltered in the trees and by the hillside. It was Kitty Mitchell, Jim's pretty brown-eyed wife, who came to the door when they rode up.

"Slim. Jess. What a nice surprise. Come in out of the cold. We were just about to have supper."

"Thanks," Slim said. "We were hoping we could stay the night if that's not too much bother. We're trailing some men who robbed the Laramie bank."

Her smile vanished. "Of course. Come in. Jim?"

"You go on and tell Jim about it," Jess told Slim, taking Alamo's reins. "I'll see to the horses and be in in a minute."

"Thanks."

Jess took his time bedding down the horses. He didn't want to go over the details of the robbery or of the murder. He didn't want to see the horror and sympathy on the Mitchells' faces when they heard Pete had been shot down for less than a hundred dollars. He'd come back in when they'd had enough time to start talking about everyday things again

When he finally went inside, supper was on the table, venison stew and fresh bread and what was left of a peach pie. Jess was grateful for it and for the coffee. He wished he didn't have to sit there and be sociable, but Slim seemed to be seeing to that enough for the both of them, and Jess didn't have to say much.

"I was telling Slim we haven't seen anyone around for a couple of weeks or more," Jim said around a hearty mouthful of stew. "But we're glad you came by. We'll sure be on the lookout now."

"You be extra careful," Jess told him, giving Mrs. Mitchell and their daughter both a hard glance. "Those two outlaws ain't playin' games up here."

Sally Mitchell was the image of her ma except for the sky-blue eyes she'd got from her pa. She turned those eyes on Jess.

"Slim said Trey was in the posse. I'm sorry he didn't come this way."

Jess tightened his jaw and spooned up another bite of stew. "Maybe he'll be by later. Once this business is settled."

"Maybe," she said with a touch of a wistful smile. "It's just hearing about Pete and thinking of poor Geneva, well, I'd have liked to see Trey sometime."

"The coffee sure is good, Sally," Slim said swiftly, his smile warm. "Your ma said you made it. Got any more?"

"I'll get it for you."

Beaming at the compliment, she poured more coffee for all three men, and there wasn't anymore talk about what had happened in town. Later, she took away their empty plates, replacing them with smaller ones that contained slices of pie.

"I'm sorry we don't have more," Mrs. Mitchell told them. "We weren't expecting anyone."

"This is fine," Jess said, his eyes on his plate. "Real good."

"Better than what we took along for the trail," Slim said. "You'll have to bring the family out to the ranch when the weather's better, Jim. We'll get Daisy to make something special for when you come."

Jim slouched back in his chair. "We'd like that. Or maybe we'll come by for Christmas or suchlike."

"You do that."

"If the weather's good."

"We'd be proud to have you."

It wasn't too much longer that the small talk wound down and the Mitchells decided to turn in.

Sally and Mrs. Mitchell made pallets in front of the fire for Jess and Slim and then bade them goodnight. Jim stayed with them a little longer, leaning against the frame of the door that led to his bedroom.

"You want me to head out with you come mornin'?" he asked low.

"No," Jess said at once.

"You got your family to look after," Slim added. "These are dangerous men, and they have to know we'll be after 'em. Just keep watch for them here. If you see 'em, stay clear and keep Kitty and Sally out of sight."

Jim nodded, his face grim. "You boys be careful, too."

"We'll be lightin' out first thing," Jess said. "So thanks for everything if we don't see you then."

"Don't you worry about that, boy," Jim said with his usual wide smile. "Kitty'll have you a hot breakfast ready before you go. Least we can do since you won't let me tag after."

OOOOO

Jess slept hard that night and woke to the smell of fried salt pork and potatoes and sourdough biscuits and more hot coffee. He and Slim made quick work of the meal and of their goodbyes and were quickly on the trail again. The sun had come out, bright and strong at last, making the ice glitter and making it harder to see what was on the trail ahead. They had gone more than half a day before they saw a sign of anything, man or beast.

"Here!" Jess called back to Slim who was a twenty yards or so behind him.

Slim caught up quickly. "What'd you find?"

"Somebody's been through here." Jess nodded toward the tracks. "I'd say they spent last night and maybe the night before in that cave over there."

Slim studied the narrow entrance. "We'd better leave the horses and go in quiet on foot. They might still be there."

"Could be, but it looks to me like they headed up higher into the hills this mornin'."

"We'll check anyway."

They crept to the cave, guns drawn, but there was nothing inside except the remains of a campfire and the trash the outlaws had left behind.

"Maybe this isn't even them," Slim said, kicking aside some burned-out match ends and cigarette butts.

"Who else'd be traipsin' around up here in a snowstorm?" Jess strode back out into the sunlight and studied the tracks. "They can't be all that far ahead of us now. If they think nobody's after 'em, could be they'll take their time."

Slim looked up at the sky. "Looks like the snow's comin' back before long. They'll want to light someplace by dark."

Jess looked, too, and then he looked up ahead. "They'd a done better to stay where they were instead a goin' on. At least in that cave they were out of the wind."

"Could be they're low on supplies."

"Or they might have stashed some somewhere ahead of time."

Slim shook his head. "They didn't seem to be much for plannin' anything. That bank robbery wasn't very well thought out."

They mounted up and followed the tracks a little farther.

"Looks like I was wrong," Jess said, frowning. "They're not headed up, they're headed over. My guess is they mean to go back down. Maybe to hole up. Maybe to get supplies."

"They wouldn't go back to town, would they?"

Jess shrugged. "Might. They were out of the bank and down the street so fast, I don't know if I could identify 'em for sure. Maybe nobody else could either. Not with their hats pulled down and their coat collars up."

"We'll just have to stay on their tails until we find 'em," Slim said. "Then we'll see what kind of story they've got."

It was little more than an hour later that Jess slowed his horse and held up one hand, warning Slim to silence. He looked down at the ground and then nodded up ahead. The trail curved down into some ice-shrouded rocks, and now there were two sets of boot prints alongside the two sets of hoofmarks.

"Walking their horses," Jess said as low as he could. "Better leave ours."

Slim nodded. They dismounted and crept forward on foot, guns drawn. Pretty soon they came up behind two men smoking and leading a pair of scrawny bay horses. The men were huddled in their coats which made it hard to tell much about them. They were both about average height, though one was a lot lankier than the other.

"Over the saloon," the stocky one was saying. "Nobody'll look at us twice there, and it'll be a sight warmer than where we bunked the last couple a nights."

"But if somebody recognizes us—"

"We were in and out too fast for that. I'm tellin' you, the last thing they'll expect is for us to come right back there and settle in for the winter."

With a quick glance at Slim, Jess cocked his gun. The sound was crisp and unmistakable in the cold air.

"Just hold it right there."

"Both of you, put your hands up," Slim added, pulling back the hammer on his gun, too.

The two men did as they were told.

"Now turn around," Slim ordered.

They obeyed.

"What do you want?" the lanky one asked, his mouth hanging open in his grimy face.

"Now you boys picked the wrong folks to rob," the stocky one said.

He was a little older than his partner, pushin' forty, Jess guessed, and the bristles in his chin were as much gray as black.

"We got nothin' but the few dollars I won at poker a while back."

"I'd say you had near a hundred dollars," Jess snarled. "Right outta the Laramie bank."

"Laramie bank?" the lanky one whined. "We ain't never—"

"Save it for your trial."

Slim snatched the gun out of his holster, and Jess did the same for the stocky man.

"Now, hand me over that rope you got on your saddle," Jess ordered him. "And don't try anything."

The man started to do as he was told, but then he stopped and a little bit of a smile touched his wide mouth. "To tell the truth, I think it's time you give us our guns back. 'Long with your own. Oh, and don't try anything. There's a gun pointed straight at your back."

"We're not fallin' for that old trick, mister. Now, like I said—"

For the third time that afternoon, Jess heard the clear metallic click of a pistol being cocked. He turned to see a kid of maybe eighteen, snub nosed and pink cheeked, holding a pistol and looking all pleased with himself as he aimed it at Jess.

"You ought to go ahead and put up your hands, mister."

Jess took less than a second to consider. He still had his weapon. Slim had his own. The men behind him had none. There was only this kid who thought he had the drop on them. He wouldn't expect—

Jess lunged at him, grabbing the gun and rolling to the ground with it and the kid.

"Jess!" Slim yelled, and Jess realized he was fighting off the other two men.

Then there was a gunshot and everything went black.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh dear, something seems to have gone wrong. Sorry this is so late, but I had to get to an appropriate stopping point and it took awhile. I'd love to know what you think.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dark.

Cold.

Sick.

Jess woke with his face in the dirt of the trail, bits of ice and gravel grating his cheek and chin and crushing pain pounding the back of his head. He struggled to his hands and knees and then crashed back down again when nausea rolled over him. He drew some hard, quick breaths to keep everything down where it belonged.

"Jess? You all right, pard?"

The familiar low voice calmed him as much as the steadying hand on his back.

"Slim." He turned onto his side, squinting up toward the words. Then he closed his eyes again, his head swimming as he laid it back on the icy trail. "Ugh."

"Take it easy, pard." Slim sounded a little shaken himself. "Just breathe slow."

"How long we been here?" Jess grated out, squinting up again.

"I— I'm not sure. Maybe an hour or so."

Jess rubbed his eyes and pushed himself to his knees once more. "Can't be. Can't have got dark that fast, even if the snow was comin' in. Not this dark."

"Jess?" Slim took hold of his shoulders, not saying anything else for another few seconds. "Look at me, Jess."

Jess scowled, turning toward the voice, wishing the pounding in his head would ease up. "How can I? It's too dark out. Light a match or somethin'."

Slim put his hands on either side of Jess's face, and they were trembling. "It's light out, Jess. It's—"

Jess grabbed his wrists, holding on as another wave of nausea swept over him. "I said light a match!"

"All right!"

Jess let him go, scrubbing his eyes with both hands and then blinking hard, willing some fragment of light to come into them. He heard the scrape and hiss of the match, caught a whiff of sulphur, and immediately reached out. Slim caught his hand and brought it close enough for him to feel the heat.

Jess knelt there, unmoving, until the match burned down and Slim had to blow it out. Then his whole body began to shake and he pulled his hand free, sinking back on his heels, wrapping his arms around his body, dropping his head, curling in on himself.

"Can't see."

"Jess—"

"I can't see, Slim. I can't see."

"Jess."

Slim put his hands on his shoulders again, and Jess grabbed his forearms, holding on so hard it made his hands ache.

"You're all right." Slim's voice was low and calm, but there was an edge to it that Jess couldn't read. Fear? No, dread. "Hold on, pard. Just hold on."

Slim moved his gloved hands from Jess's shoulders to the sides of his face and tilted his head up. Jess could feel the sun even in the cold. Why couldn't he see it? Oh, God—

"No, open your eyes, Jess. Don't turn your face away."

The breath shuddered in and out of him and he tried to do what Slim said. He could feel the hot tears that welled up and had to force himself not to blink them back. His fingers twisted into the sleeves of Slim's heavy coat.

"What's wrong?" he choked out finally, shamed to feel two hot tears slide down the sides of his face. "What's wrong with me?"

"I don't know. You look all right. How do you feel?"

Jess swallowed hard, holding tighter. "Sick, I guess. Head hurts pretty bad."

"Where?"

Jess brought his fingers to the back of his head, hissing at the sudden pain. He couldn't feel the familiar warm wetness through his gloves, but his hair was slick, and he knew he was bleeding.

Slim turned his head, touching the area carefully. "I guess one of 'em musta busted you pretty good with a gun butt. Good thing you're as hardheaded as you are."

"Yeah." Jess's voice was low and flat, belying the sheer terror that was raging through him. "What happened? Where'd they go?"

"Where else are you hurt?" Slim lifted Jess's chin, no doubt searching his face again.

"Nowhere's I can tell. Why didn't they kill us?"

"It was the older one. He told the kid not to waste the ammunition, to let the cold do the job." Slim turned Jess loose and sank down on the ground next to him with a low groan. "They just rode off."

Slim was trying to hide it, but Jess wasn't fooled.

"Where're you hurt?"

"That skinny one grabbed his gun outta my belt. It went off when we were struggling, nicked me in the side." Slim let out a hard breath. "It's nothin'."

Jess grabbed his arm and patted his other hand uselessly from his shoulder down to his chest, but Slim pushed him away.

"Let it alone. I tore up one of my sleeves for a bandage. It'll do till we get some help. Do you think you can ride?"

"If you can get us to the horses, yeah. Can you walk?"

"Yeah. If you don't mind me leaning on you some." Slim clasped Jess's shoulder. "I guess it's gonna take both of us to get out of this mess."

Jess sat there a moment more, slowing his breathing. They'd be all right. They'd get to the horses and get back down to town, and then they'd be all right. Doc Hanson, there had to be something he could do. Please God, let there be something he can do. Not blind. Please, not blind.

"You ready?" Slim asked, a strained heartiness in his voice.

"Yeah."

Jess got to his feet, realizing he didn't even know which way to turn. Which way were the horses? Which way was town? He reached out in front of him, not even knowing what he hoped to grab hold of. Slim caught his arm and put it around his waist. Then he put his own arm around Jess's shoulders.

"We're all right, pard. We'll help each other."

They managed to stumble forward together, Jess forcing himself to take one uncertain step after another, feeling Slim lean on him more and more as they went along. Maybe Slim wasn't hurt bad like he said, but getting shot couldn't have done him any good. Still, the horses weren't far. Just a little way down the trail now. If they could get mounted up, they'd be all right. The horses knew their way back home. They'd be all right. They'd—

"Jess?"

Slim had slowed to a stop and his breath was coming hard and fast. He was sagging now, heavy against Jess's shoulder. Jess struggled to hold him up, wishing he could see if the fear in his eyes matched the quaver in his voice.

"What is it?"

"The horses," Slim breathed. "They're gone."

He sank to his knees, and Jess had to let him go.

"Gone? Are— are you sure?"

"Yeah." Jess still had one hand on Slim's shoulder, and he could tell he was nodding. And he could tell when he dropped his head. "Both gone."

Jess licked his suddenly dry lips. "Maybe they just wandered off a little ways. Or maybe we haven't got back to where we left 'em yet. Could be they're farther back than you remember."

"I know where it was, Jess," Slim said, low, grim, and certain. "That's the tree we tied 'em to. They couldn't have gotten loose on their own."

"Then they took 'em. They took Traveller and Alamo."

Jess stood there with his chest heaving and his fists clenched tight, letting the fury burn through his body, hoping it would burn out the growing fear. The thought of men like that riding their horses, riding Traveller and Alamo, was bad enough, but the thought of having no horses at all—

"What are we gonna do?"

For a long moment, Jess had only the freezing howl of the wind in answer. Then he heard Slim struggle to his feet again.

"We'll go back to the Mitchell place. They can help us. Jim can go for the doc. Kitty can tend to us until Doc Hanson gets there."

There was nothing else to do.

"Can you make it?" Jess asked.

Slim laughed half under his breath. "Have to. Come on and help me."

Jess walked toward the sound of his voice until he was close enough for Slim to grab his arm and put it around his waist again. Then Slim leaned on his shoulder and started them forward. He didn't say much the next little while, but Jess could feel it when he lifted his head. Looking at the sky, no doubt.

"What is it?" Jess asked finally.

"Gettin' dark. We'll have snow before long. Heavy, by the looks of it."

"I can feel it in the wind," Jess said. "I can smell it."

"Better get movin' then."

Slim took a step, but Jess stayed where he was.

"Jess?"

Jess clutched the side of Slim's coat, twisting his fingers into the heavy fabric. "I'm scared, pard."

"Yeah," Slim said. "I'm scared, too. Come on."

They walked on. Jess slid one foot ahead and then the other, holding his free arm out ahead of him, afraid of stumbling in the black unknown that surrounded him, afraid to let go of Slim's coat. Helpless. Useless. Afraid.

No, he couldn't think that. Not now. He and Slim had to get back to Jim Mitchell's, had to get help. That was the only thing he needed to concentrate on now. The rest would have to wait. The rest wasn't something he had time for.

He nearly stumbled when Slim swayed. At first he thought Slim was walking around some obstacle in their path, but then it happened again.

Jess steadied him. "Slim?"

"Jess, I—"

Slim sagged against him, and Jess helped him sit down.

"What is it?"

"Can't— Gotta rest a minute."

Slim slumped to one side, and Jess lowered him to the ground.

"It's all right, pard. It's okay." Jess pulled off his gloves and pressed his hand to Slim's cheek. "You're burnin' up."

He unbuttoned Slim's coat and ran his hand along his side, feeling the slick warmth of blood at the same time he heard Slim's gasp.

"How bad are you hurt?" Jess demanded. "This ain't no nick."

"It's all right," Slim gasped, trying to push his hand away. "All we gotta do is get to Jim's and I'll be fine."

"Not losin' blood like this." Jess pulled off his bandana and stuffed it into the wound. "You musta tore it open again."

Slim groaned. "Just get it stopped. It's nearly dark."

Jess shucked off his coat and then his shirt, tearing off one sleeve and then tearing that sleeve into strips and knotting them together. Following Slim's slurred directions, he cut away the sodden bandage with his pocketknife and then wrapped the knotted strips snugly around Slim's middle. At least it was enough to hold the wadded bandana over the wound, though Jess could tell it was already soaked through with blood. There wasn't much else to be done.

"Gotta get goin' again, pard," Jess said once he'd put on his gloves and his coat and his one-sleeved shirt. "We wait much longer, and neither of us'll be able to see a thing."

He tried to help Slim sit up, but Slim only pulled away from him.

"You gotta leave me, Jess. I can't go anymore."

"Don't be stupid. Come on."

Jess tried again to get Slim to his feet, but Slim wouldn't let him.

"Can't, Jess. You gotta go down to Michell's by yourself." Slim grabbed the front of Jess's coat. "If you don't, neither of us is gonna make it."

"I'm not leavin' you. You'll freeze out here."

"Listen," Slim said, still holding on. "You gotta head down that way." He took Jess's hand and pointed it toward his right. "If you go straight on that way and don't turn, you'll get to Jim's. You'll hit one of his fences if nothin' else. You can follow that to the house."

"Slim, I can't—"

"You have to." Slim's voice was getting softer and more garbled. "I just can't walk anymore."

"Slim—"

"Please."

Jess heard the air seep out of him and then there was nothing. Just like Pete.

"Slim?" Jess stripped off one of his gloves and patted his bare hand up Slim's sleeve, to his shoulder and then to his face. "Slim."

He felt the slight flutter of warm air at Slim's nose and mouth and took a steadying breath. Still alive. He had to get Slim down to Mitchell's before it was too late. He could already feel the temperature dropping. It had to be nearly sundown. He couldn't wait.

He knelt at Slim's side, sat him up, and then leaned him over his shoulder, shifting him until his head and arms hung down behind him. Then, with every bit of strength he had left, he staggered to his feet.

"I won't leave you," he gasped out as he trudged forward, praying with every step that he was heading the way Slim had told him. "Won't. Leave you."

His every breath was loud in his ears, loud in the frozen air that burned his lungs and dried his mouth so he could hardly swallow. His every step was slow and uncertain, and after a little while, his legs began to tremble. He couldn't afford to stumble. He couldn't afford to falter. He'd let Pete die. He couldn't let the same thing happen to Slim. He couldn't. He had to— Had to—

With a groan, he sank to his knees and let Slim slip to the ground.

And it started to snow.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: A blow to the back of the head can cause cortical blindness, the loss of sight caused by damage to the brain (specifically the occipital lobe) rather than to the eyes. Poor, dear Jess is in a pickle now. I'd love to know what you think. **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Think. Slow down and think._

Jess sank down on his heels, his thoughts racing and his breath coming hard as the cutting wind pelted him with snow. He didn't know how far he and Slim had come or how far they had yet to go. They'd traveled about half a day from the Mitchell place before they'd come across the outlaws and that was in clear daylight and on horseback. That was when he could see. Now . . .

Slim moaned low and started to stir.

"Take it easy, pard." Jess moved closer to him, reaching into the darkness until he caught hold of the front of Slim's coat. "I know you're hurtin'. Gimme a minute to get my breath and we'll head out."

"No," Slim gasped.

"I told you I'm not leavin' you."

"You have to." Slim caught a couple of shallow breaths. "We'll both die if you don't. We're far enough down now. I can see the path." He grabbed Jess's hand as he'd done before, pointing him the right way. "You stay on it and it'll take you straight to Jim's. He can come back for me. Tell him I'm in the pine– pine grove up above the creek. He'll know the place."

"I can get you down to the cabin," Jess said. "I just needed a minute to rest, but I'm ready to go again, and you can make sure we keep headed in the right direction."

He tightened his hold on Slim's coat and hauled him up.

"Don't," Slim gasped. "Wait. Don't."

"Okay, pard. Okay. Whatever you say." Jess swiftly settled him on the ground again, and then pulled off his gloves to check his temperature. It was higher than before. "We'll get going again when you're ready."

"I'm not ready," Slim said, sounding as if his teeth were clenched hard. "Not— not gonna be ready."

"Slim—"

"I can't do it, Jess. Don't—" Slim drew a painful breath. "Don't have the strength now."

"I'll carry you." Jess grabbed both of his hands, forcing a tight smile even though he didn't know whether or not Slim had his eyes open. "You know, you coulda laid off the oats a little this winter and made things easier on me."

Slim laughed low and then groaned again.

"Shh, shh," Jess said, gripping his hands tighter. "You're gonna be okay. We'll be down at Mitchell's in no time."

"No, listen to me, Jess. Listen. I can't do it. _You_ can't do it."

"I will," Jess insisted. "I'm not gonna stay here, and I'm not leaving you. Now come on."

He managed to pull Slim up, but he was all dead weight. No matter how much Jess struggled, he couldn't get him back across his shoulders.

"No," Slim groaned. "No, lemme down. Lemme down."

"All right. All right."

Jess laid him down again and, his breathing fast and labored, Slim muttered something Jess didn't catch. Jess pressed one hand to the side of his neck and felt the erratic beat of his pulse. Then he cautiously checked the bandage around his middle. His skin was slick with blood. He had to have some help, and he had to have it soon.

"Okay," Jess told him as he pulled Slim's shirt back over his wound and then buttoned his coat again against the swirling snow. "You stay where you are. I'll get us out of this. I'm not letting you die."

Slim said something else, and Jess leaned closer to him.

"What was that, pard?"

"You're not, Jess," Slim breathed. "You're just not."

"I'm not what? Slim?"

"Some– some decisions aren't up to you. Some things you . . . can't fix." Slim's voice was barely a whisper. "You're not God."

The breath seeped out of him again, and he was still.

"Slim? Slim!"

Jess shook him, but there was no response. His face was still too warm, but his nose and lips were cold. He was freezing. He was freezing and there was nothing Jess could do.

He tugged the collar of Slim's coat up closer around his face and pulled his muffler up to his ears. Then he tilted his hat down some so it would better shield his face. What else? What else could he do? Slim was right. Jess couldn't carry him. He couldn't carry him and he wouldn't leave him to die. What could he do?

He turned his face up to the darkness above him, shaken with gasping breaths. He had to think of something. What had Slim said about the pines? The pine grove above the creek.

He struggled to his feet and then he stopped himself. He hadn't moved since Slim had shown him the way to Mitchell's. He had to mark that in case he got turned around. He found a stick under the snow and, with the help of his pocketknife, drove it into the hard ground. Then he notched the side that was, as best he could tell, facing toward the trail down to the cabin.

After that he stood, and with one hand outstretched and the other shielding his face, he took careful steps forward, trying to remember a creek and then a stand of pines when they had ridden up this way that morning. The trees had been thick and lush, guarding each side of the path like sentries. At least for a little way, it would be hard to miss the path, but first things first. He had to see to Slim as best he could.

It seemed forever before the scent of pine reached his nose. He inched closer to it and felt the rough bark of a broad trunk. The branches were low and laden with snow, and it took him only a few minutes to cut some of them down with his pocketknife. It was warmer here in the trees, too. This would be the best place.

When he had made a thick bed of branches and had another pile of them laid to one side, he found his way back to Slim. The little stick with the notch in it was still firmly in place. From anything he could tell, Slim hadn't moved, but he was nearly covered with snow.

"Slim?"

Jess brushed the snow from his face and held one hand near his mouth. Still breathing.

"Come on," he said, not expecting to be heard. "You'll probably do better to sleep through this anyway."

He grabbed Slim's wrists and, with all the strength he had left, dragged him toward the scent of the pines.

"You know," he said as he settled Slim on the pallet of branches he had made, "I heard tell of a young fella and his wife who were on a wagon train headed west a few years back. The wife took sick and couldn't be moved, and the train had to leave 'em behind before a snowstorm hit."

He tucked Slim's hands into his coat pockets and then began covering him with the rest of the pine boughs.

"Seems they were give up for dead, but when the storm quit and the wagon master came back for 'em with the doctor, he found 'em covered in snow but still alive. Turns out the snow kinda insulated 'em and kept 'em warm."

Slim was covered now except for his face. Jess pulled off his glove and slipped his hand inside Slim's collar, finding the slow, steady beat of his blood. Then he moved his hand up to his cheek.

"It's all I know to do for you, pard. You rest easy until I can send Mitchell up for you. He's a good man. He'll see you get back all right."

He draped Slim's muffler over his face and ears and made sure his hat was firmly in place. Then he covered him the rest of the way with branches. Afterward, he laid his bare hand on the snowy mound where he imagined Slim's heart was.

"Please, God, look after him." He swallowed hard and struggled to his feet again and then once more looked up into the blackness above him. "Look after us both."

He pulled on his glove and, ducking his head into the wind, made his way toward the place he'd marked. The snow was turning to sleet and the wind was swirling, buffeting him from every direction. He took slow, shuffling steps, again using one hand to reach out into the darkness and the other to shield his face.

After awhile, he was sure he'd missed the stick he'd left behind, sure he'd gone past and was wandering the wrong way, up into who knew what, up into the hills where he'd walk until he froze, leaving Slim to bleed his life away in his bed of pine boughs. He forced himself to stop. To think. He could still smell the pines in back of him. They couldn't be too far away. Under his boots, he could feel the rut in the snow where he'd dragged Slim to the trees. He hadn't gone too far yet.

He took another step forward. Then another. Then he felt a place where the snow was churned up. Where Slim had lain. Where Jess himself had knelt. He knelt again and patted his hands carefully, lightly on the new snow. There, barely poking through the fresh-fallen drift was the top of the stick. He felt down the side of it and found the notch he'd carved. Then he thanked God for it. He would have headed out a totally different way if he hadn't left it behind. Now all he had to do was strike out in the darkness and trust that the path would lead him straight to Mitchell's.

His heart pounded into his throat as he thought of making that long walk alone in the unrelieved blackness that was now his world. He'd never been one to let fear cripple him. He'd never been one to flinch away from whatever needed doing, no matter how impossible it seemed. But this? He'd never felt so helpless, so vulnerable, and so alone.

"I'm scared, pard," he whispered into the darkness that yawned before him, but his pard wasn't there to be scared alongside him now. His pard needed his help, and standing here afraid to take that next step wasn't doing either of them any good. He sucked in a lungful of cold air and started down the trail.

Slim had been right about the upper part of the path. If he veered much to one side or the other, the dense trees kept him from going too far. His steps were still slow and cautious, but the longer he walked, the more confident he felt. He just had to keep moving. He'd have to run into Mitchell's fence line before long, like Slim had said, and then he could follow that to the cabin.

He didn't know how long he walked, but he didn't give himself time to think about it. He just kept on. The wind blew colder and harder, but he only ducked his head and trudged into it, knowing every step brought him closer to warmth and help. He walked on and on, walked when he wanted to sit, when he wanted to lie down and let the snow cover him as it no doubt did Slim.

"Just a little while more," he repeated until his throat was dry and his voice was hoarse. "Just a little while more."

He walked until he had to stop and lean against an ice-slicked tree to catch his breath. He couldn't tell if it was night still. Maybe somehow he'd missed Mitchell's fence. No, he had to walk on. Slim was counting on him. Slim was—

He laughed breathlessly when a fencepost caught him right in the belly. A fencepost! His weariness and fear forgotten, he hurried on, following the ice-and-snow-covered top rail on toward the house, realizing from the first cheeping of the sparrows that dawn must have come at last. He called out when the fence line finally made a sharp corner, a corner he remembered as the far side of Mitchell's front yard. He could smell the smoke from the fireplace.

"Mitchell!" He stumbled forward, too eager to be cautious now. "Mitchell!"

His outstretched hand found the heavy post that held up the roof over the front porch, and he managed to get up the steps. Finally, he was at the door, his hands almost shaking as they felt the rough-hewn wood.

"Mitchell!" he shouted, pounding on the door. "It's Jess! Jess Harper! Mitchell!"

He heard someone stirring inside, and then the door opened.

"Mitchell," Jess panted, reaching out both hands, catching hold of a flannel shirt. "Mitchell?"

For a moment longer there was only silence, and then there was a low, nasty laugh.

"Well, what do you know, Trent? This one ain't dead after all."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I'd sure like to know what you think now.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Before Jess could react, the man seized the front of his coat and threw him to the cabin's wooden floor. Then the door slammed, the sound followed by the unmistakable thud of something heavy dropped into place to bar it shut.

"I told you you shoulda let the kid finish 'em off, Trent."

Jess glared up into the nothingness, refusing to let even a hint of fear show in his face even if he couldn't stop the quick heaving of his lungs. "Like you did Pete?"

Again there was that nasty laugh. "Who's Pete?"

Jess swiveled his head to the right, following the movement of the sound. "The kid you gunned down in the bank."

"Hey, Trent," the man said, "I don't think the cowboy here can see." He took rough hold of Jess's jaw and turned his face up and then guffawed again. "You hit him pretty good after all, eh, Timmo?"

Somebody muttered something from the back of the room. A low voice. A young voice. Timmo must be the kid Jess remembered struggling with, the one with the turned-up nose and round face. The last face he'd seen.

Jess wrenched out of the first man's grasp. "Keep your hands offa me," he growled. "Or if you gotta stand upwind, try some soap and water sometime."

The man cursed, but the slap that snapped Jess's head back only brought a sardonic grin to his bloodied lips.

"I don't have to see to know there's a streak of yella down your back." He stuck the tip of his tongue into the salty, stinging corner of his mouth. "I knew it when you gunned down Pete Chandler, and you proved it again just now."

Someone else came closer to Jess, his steps too heavy to be the kid's, and it sounded like he shoved the first man back.

"Just what makes you think that was us?" a different voice asked, one lower and more measured than the first.

Again Jess turned to the sound, remembering this voice. It was the older, stockier man from the trail. "Don't bother lyin', mister. We both know that was you and your gang."

The man, Jess assumed his name was Trent, paused for a thoughtful moment. "I guess you're right. No use dancin' around it between the four of us. You'd a done better to die up there where we left you. Up on the hill with your partner."

Slim.

Jess squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and narrowed his useless eyes, praying he was at least close to glaring at the boss of the gang. "He ain't dead."

The lanky man chuckled from Jess's other side. "He was gut-shot. He couldn't a lasted the night."

_Please, God, let him have lasted the night._

Jess turned his glare in that direction, showing nothing of fear or uncertainty. "He lost some blood, yeah, but that bullet only nicked him. He headed down to Laramie yesterday to get us some help."

"You're lyin'." One of them grabbed Jess by the front of the coat again, the lanky man, he suspected, and hauled him to his feet. "He'd a never left you on your own up there. Not blind."

Trent shoved the man away again and took hold of Jess's arm. "What are you talkin' about, boy? When'd he leave?"

"I don't know," Jess lied. "Not long after y'all left us. I couldn't see to tell the time of day, but he told me it was still afternoon. He went down for the law in Laramie. Likely he didn't even have to go far to find it. Sheriff Cory and another part of the posse were only a little ways from here. If they don't find me up where you left us yesterday, my pard'll know I came here. To Mitchell's place, like he and I talked about." A sudden thought made Jess catch his breath, and then he clenched his jaw. "Where's Mitchell and his wife and daughter?" he demanded. "What'd you do with 'em?"

He heard that nasty chuckle again, and Trent tightened his hold on Jess's arm.

"Shut up, Betts," Trent said. "You listen to me, Harper. It is Harper, right?"

"Yeah," Jess muttered.

"All right, Harper, you keep still and keep quiet. Don't make me no trouble, and I won't make you none. Deal?"

"No," Jess spat. "I wanna know what you did with the Mitchells."

Trent didn't answer him.

"They're in the other room," Betts said, and blind or not, Jess could tell he was smirking.

"If you don't want anything to happen to them," Trent said finally, "you'd best do as you're told. Now what about this posse?"

"I told you," Jess said. "They're likely on their way here. You'd be smart to take out now and let me and the Mitchells alone."

"And why shouldn't we kill you, boy? We'd be fools to leave any witnesses."

"And bigger fools to bring down more law on you than you know what to do with. You go now, and odds are you'll make it halfway to Canada before Cory gets here. Besides," Jess said, a touch of black humor now in his tone, "at this point, I can truthfully tell the sheriff I didn't see a thing."

"We oughta just go, Pa," said the young voice, the kid Timmo.

"You just stay put now, boy," Trent said. "Let me figure out what's best."

"You keep us alive," Jess said smoothly, "and you'll have something to bargain with when that posse comes tearin' up here. You kill me and the Mitchells, there's nothing to keep them from starvin' you out. Or burnin' you out. Or just shootin' this place to matchsticks."

"Please, Pa," Timmo said low in his throat.

He wasn't so cocksure as he'd been back on the trail. What had happened since?

"Y'all go on and go," Jess said, "and I'll stall the posse here awhile. They won't take much convincing if they find we're okay. Not with the snow about to come down again. Y'all go now, and you'll be able to find shelter for the night before the storm gets here. And those horses we were ridin'—"

"Don't you worry about those horses," Betts said from behind him.

Jess shoved down the foreboding he suddenly felt. No need to let the jackass know he much cared.

"You probably know by now anyway," he said with a shrug. "They're both more trouble than they're worth to ride. Either of 'em'd as soon buck you into the next county as take sugar from your hand. Believe me."

"Oh, I believe you," Betts said, his voice suddenly honey-sweet.

Jess flinched to feel the man's arm snake tight around his neck and the cold pressure of a gun barrel against his temple.

"I believe you," Betts said, that smirk still in his voice. "Those were two wild ones. They didn't want nobody ridin' 'em. That one with the star, he was the worst of 'em. Tried to buck me off at first. And when he tried to take my head off with a tree branch, I knew he weren't no good to me. I couldn't count on him to get me out of a jam no better'n that nag I already had."

Jess heard the distinctive click of the trigger.

"Nothin' to do for it by then," Betts said, "but get him just like this."

He squeezed his arm a little tighter around Jess's neck, making him struggle a little to breathe. Or maybe the tightness in Jess's throat was due to the sudden, heavy dread in his stomach.

"And do you know what I did then, Harper?"

Jess bit his tongue, refusing to answer. Refusing to do more than stare stonily into the darkness. Already fearing, already knowing, what he'd say.

"I put a bullet in his brain and the other one's, too," Betts purred. "Just. Like. This."

"No!" Timmo said. "Ain't you done enough?"

"Let him alone, Betts," Trent said. "We gotta decide what we're gonna do. Got no time for kids' games."

Betts snorted and let Jess go, shoving him down to his knees.

_No._

_No. No. No._

Jess didn't even try to stand. Didn't try to move. Shock. Pain. Rage. He couldn't afford to feel any of those now. He couldn't let the burning tears behind his eyes betray him. He only clenched his jaw, clenched it so hard he was sure the bones would crack. Not Traveller. Please, dear God, not Traveller. Not Traveller and Alamo both. Slim would—

He stuffed down everything he was feeling, stored it like ice in an icehouse, keeping it for when it was needed. Now wasn't the time. He had to get out of this, and he had to get the Mitchells and Slim out of this. After that, there would be time to deal with Betts. Blind or not, he'd see Betts and the whole gang paid for what they'd done. For Pete. For Slim. For the Mitchells. For Alamo and Traveller. For all of it. But now—

Now he sat unmoving where he was, stone faced, focusing on the darkness and the ice that was forming around his heart. He would wait.

He would wait.

"All right, Trent," Betts said, sounding disappointed that his announcement hadn't been met with a more entertaining reaction from his prisoner. "So let's discuss. What is it we ought to do?"

"Let's just go, Pa," Timmo said. "This ain't nothin' like you said it'd be."

"Shut up, kid," Betts snapped. "Sometimes things don't work out like you plan. That don't mean they won't come out better next time."

"Quiet, both of you," Trent said. "Just let me think here. From what I figure, we can't know what's best to do unless we know for sure whether that other guy went after the law or not. If he didn't, we might as well make ourselves comfortable here awhile, and we'd have no reason to keep any extra company. If he did, it might come in handy to have a little leverage. Harper here might have friends who'd like to keep him alive, don't you think?"

Betts snorted. "Maybe. So what do we do?"

"You and me'll go up the trail a little ways and see if the other one's still up there. Then we'll know what to do."

"What about me, Pa?" Timmo asked.

"You stay here and keep watch."

"With— With them?"

"We won't be gone long. I need to know I can count on you. Okay, boy?"

The kid drew a hard breath. "Yeah. Okay."

"And you," Trent said, pulling Jess to his feet. "You don't give him no trouble. He's young, but that don't mean he can't blow your head off as easy as a man twice his age. Understand?"

"Yeah," Jess muttered, glad he didn't have to look at any of them, pushing his feelings deeper into the ice. The time would come. "Sure."

"All right then.

"So what do we do with him?" Betts asked. "Tie him up?"

"No need," Trent told him. "He ain't goin' anywhere. Not like he is."

"He got down here from where we left him yesterday," Betts reminded him. "Blind or not, he's a handful. You don't want him pullin' somethin' on the kid, do you? I say put him with the others."

"Pa, no," Timmo said.

"It's the only place we got, boy," Trent told him. "Like Betts said, I don't want him pullin' somethin' on you. It won't hurt him none. But you keep sharp, you understand? We oughtn't to be gone long, but keep sharp all the same."

"Yeah, Pa. I will."

"I'll go get the horses, Betts," Trent said. "You see to Harper."

"Yeah." Betts put one arm, friendly-like, around Jess's shoulders. "You come right on in here."

Betts guided him across the floor and then opened the bedroom door, the door Jim Mitchell had been standing in the night before Jess and Slim had last left the cabin. Betts walked him a couple of steps into the room.

"You won't need a light," he said, giving him a shove forward.

Then there was the click of a turning key, and he was gone.

Jess stood a moment where he was. He'd never been in this room before. He had no way to know what it was like or where things were. The Mitchells were probably tied up in here. Maybe, since he was free, he could at least loosen their bonds.

"Miz Mitchell?" he called softly, listening for any sound of movement. "Miss Sally?"

There wasn't a sound beyond his own ragged breathing. Maybe they were gagged, too.

"Mitchell?"

Nothing.

Jess took a cautious step forward, hands outstretched in his darkness.

"Jim?"

Feeling that dread rising in his throat, he took three more steps and banged his knee and hip against the bedstead. Maybe the Mitchells had been tied up and then laid out in the bed.

He felt along the feather mattress, up toward the head of the bed. About halfway there, he found a hand. A small hand, slim and soft.

Slim and soft and cold.

Frantic, he slid his hand up the arm to the slender shoulder. To the neck and up to the face. It was Sally Mitchell, and she was ice cold.

He felt past her and across the bed. To Kitty Mitchell and then to Jim. They were all three there. All three cold and still.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I fear things have only worsened for our valiant hero. What now? Reviews are love.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Jess squeezed his eyes shut, even though that couldn't make things any darker than they already were.

_Please, dear God— _

Maybe the Mitchells weren't dead. Maybe they were just— Maybe—

He felt down to Jim Mitchell's cold wrist, pressing his fingers tightly into it, willing there to be even the faintest pulse.

Nothing.

He pressed harder. Waiting. Waiting. But the flesh was cold. Already growing rigid.

He moved over to the arm next to Jim's. Mrs. Mitchell's. It was just as cold and stiff. Just as lifeless. The bedroom door was locked shut. The fire in here unlit. Likely they'd all be frozen stiff by morning. Still, he had to be sure.

He felt along Mrs. Mitchell's arm to her shoulder and across to her daughter. Sally was younger. Stronger maybe. Could be there was still a chance.

Her skin was just as cold as her parents' had been. Her body as still.

He slipped his arm under her shoulders and lifted her up a little.

"Miss Sally?" he whispered, leaning down to press his ear against her heart.

He listened in the cold silence, in the endless darkness, pressing closer until he heard a heartbeat. Not just a single one, but several in a frantic rush.

"Sally?"

He pulled her up against him, her head on his shoulder, her face turned so he could feel her breath on his cheek. It was there, wasn't it? Please, let it be there.

He stripped the glove from his free hand with his teeth. Then he held his hand over her lips and under her nose. There was nothing. No warmth. No stir of breath. But he had heard—

He cradled her closer, his hand pressed to her slender neck, his ear against her lips, waiting to feel the pulsing of her blood, to hear again those rapid beats. A moment later, he let the air seep from his lungs. Those heartbeats had been only the rush of blood in his own ears.

"I'm sorry," he breathed against her soft hair, holding her tighter still. "I'm sorry."

This wouldn't have happened if he'd only kept on after Trent and Betts that first day when the posse turned back. If he'd only torn after them that first minute Pete was shot and laid them out in the middle of Laramie's main street then and there. If he'd only stood talking to Pete a few minutes longer and had been there to take the outlaws the second they set foot in the bank. If he'd only . . .

If he'd only.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness, and he lifted Sally's cold hand to his lips, wishing now that he'd brought Trey Hendricks along after all. Maybe Trey'd have been able to get Slim some help instead of just dumping him in a bunch of pine branches and taking off. Maybe he'd have stopped Timmo before he got the drop on him and Slim. At the least, he'd have gotten to see his sweetheart before she died.

As gently as he could, Jess laid the girl back against the pillow and then rested her hand over her heart. Then he felt around until he found the quilt that was sitting folded in a chair. He took it and spread it over the family lying still in the bed. It was all the reverence he could show just now, for Sally and her folks.

For another long moment, he knelt there in the silence, in the darkness, beside the bed, pushing more pain and rage down into the ice inside himself. Then he heard the cabin door open and close, Trent and Betts talking in the other room, and then the sound of horses disappearing into the distance. They were gone. Only Timmo was on the other side of the bedroom door.

That door was locked and no doubt as sturdy-built as the rest of the cabin, but it wasn't the only way out of the room. Jess didn't stop to think about what he'd do once he was outside again. He had to get out first.

He felt in the darkness for the glove he'd taken off a little while earlier and, finding it, pulled it back on. He'd need it when he was out in the weather again. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad out. It hadn't seemed too bad when he'd been coming toward the cabin anyway. More snow was coming, probably in the night. He'd felt it and smelled it in the air. He had to get out and find shelter, find help, get someone to help Slim, before then.

He found his way to the head of the bed and felt along the rough logs of the wall, along the plastered chinks that kept him moving in a more-or-less-straight line. He winced when he banged his hip into the sharp corner of the bureau, rattling the bowl and pitcher atop it. Then he slid his hands across the top of the bureau, across the crocheted doily and the comb and brush laid out on it. He reached out his hands toward the back of the bureau, wondering if it was set beneath a window, but all he found was the cold flatness of a looking glass. He moved on.

The bare roughness of the wall met his searching hands again, and he kept going until he bumped his shoulder against the tall cabinet that stood in the corner. Then he moved to the next wall. There had to be a window somewhere along here. As best he could tell, the head of the bedstead was against the wall opposite the bedroom door. That meant this wall here had to be on the side of the house. He hadn't found a window on the back wall, unless it was in the corner directly over the bed, so it seemed likely there was one in this side wall he was at now.

He kept moving, almost tripping over a rocking chair and then finally finding the window frame and the shutters. It was colder here. It had to be the window. He felt over a little farther, found the latch that kept the shutters closed, and lifted it out of the way. Then he tugged at the handles, but the shutters didn't swing open. He pulled harder, and still nothing moved.

His breathing sped up as he ran his fingers around the edges of the window frame. He was close. So close. He had to get out and get gone before Trent and Betts came back. Before the kid thought to come check on him. And then— No, he couldn't thing about what would happen then. He wasn't out yet. He tugged the shutters again and then felt along the edges of them. Nail heads. The shutters were nailed down.

A growl of helpless fury and frustration rose from deep in his throat, and he slammed both fists against the unyielding wood. Again he stuffed those emotions deep inside himself. He didn't have the time or strength for them. He had to be cool and quick witted now. He had to think. He could never pull out those nails with his bare hands, but maybe there was something he could get to that would take them out. There was a comb and a brush on the dresser. Where was Mitchell's razor?

Jess felt his way toward where he'd started, sliding his hands along the wall, past the cabinet and back to the bureau. He swiftly found the comb and brush again, the crumpled doily, the bowl and pitcher. He found Mitchell's shaving mug and brush on the far side of the bowl. The razor—

He backed himself against the wall, slipping the razor into his coat pocket as the key turned in the lock and then the bedroom door swung open.

"What's that noise? What are you doing?"

Jess set his jaw at the sound of the kid's voice, glaring again into the darkness.

"Look," Timmo said, "my pa nailed that window shut to keep them in. You ain't gettin' out neither, so you might as well light someplace till he and Betts get back."

"Why? So the three of you can kill me?" Jess swept one hand toward the death-laden bed. "Like you did them?"

"That weren't my fault. It was Betts. He started it."

Jess tightened his hand on the razor in his pocket. "Betts killed all three of 'em?"

"N-no," Timmo admitted. "I don't wanna talk about it. You just stay still and keep quiet or I'll have to see to it you do."

"Like how?" Jess asked, a slight, sardonic grin on his lips. "You gonna shoot a blind man now? Which of the Mitchells was yours, huh? The lady? Or maybe it was the girl? Takes a tough man to gun down an unarmed girl like that, don't it?"

"Shut up. Just shut up. You don't know what happened, so just shut up."

"Then why don't you tell me what happened?" Jess took a step away from the wall, hoping he looked steadier than he felt, hoping he didn't stumble as he stepped toward what must be the light in the front room.

"All right," Timmo said. "You come on outta there where I can see you."

"Yeah, it's easier when you can see." Jess moved closer to the sound of his voice. "Ask me how I know."

He heard the click of the kid's gun being cocked and lifted both empty hands.

"Come on over here," Timmo said, grabbing Jess's arm when he got close enough. "Now you know I got this gun on you. Like my pa said, don't think I won't use it."

He tugged Jess through the bedroom door and over to one of the ladder-back chairs at the table and then shoved him into it. Jess slipped his hands into his coat pockets, trying to ignore the welcome warmth of the fire and the smell of coffee and of something with meat in it cooking at the stove, waiting for his chance.

"So tell me," he said quietly.

He heard the slight creak of the chair next to his and then the kid's sigh.

"I don't know. I don't know. It was last night. Betts kept on after the girl. Pa told him we didn't need that kind of trouble, and I thought things had settled down. Pa made the woman fix us something for supper, and the girl came over with some coffee. Betts said something nasty to her and pulled her into his lap. I guess her pa couldn't take it anymore, 'cause he jumped Betts. I'm not really clear after that. Betts or Pa, I don't know which, shot him dead. The girl was screamin' and clawin' at Betts, and her ma tore after him with a skillet. Pa was tryin' to pull her off when the girl got ahold a Betts' gun. She was gonna shoot Pa." There were tears now in the kid's voice. "Well, I couldn't let her, could I? What was I supposed to do?"

Jess didn't answer him. He didn't want to feel sorry for the kid. He was blind because of the young fool. Sally Mitchell was dead. Likely Slim was by now, too. Maybe if Jess had taken just a few more minutes to talk to Pete Chandler, Trent and Betts would be the ones dead now, on the floor of the bank or in the middle of the street, and this kid wouldn't be neck deep in trouble he never wanted in the first place.

"What happened to Mrs. Mitchell?" Jess asked finally, his voice low and cold.

"Betts grabbed his gun back and shot her right after I shot the girl. It happened so fast, I didn't even see it all. Now no matter what, I'm gonna hang. Sooner or later, I'm gonna hang."

Stupid kid. Didn't he know what he was getting himself into? Probably not. Like Pete. One stupid mistake, and there's no going back.

In spite of himself, Jess softened his tone. "Maybe not. You're just a kid. Could be they'd only lock you up."

"The rest of my life," Timmo said. He was sobbing now. "I couldn't stand it."

"Maybe not your whole life. Sometimes they let you out if you don't cause any trouble."

"After how long? Forty years? Fifty? They might as well hang me and be done."

"I don't know about that," Jess said. "Look, I smell coffee boilin'. Why don't you get yourself some and calm down."

"Yeah," the kid choked out, and his gun clicked again as he put the hammer back into its original position and shoved the iron back into his holster. "Sure."

The chair scraped as he pushed it back and got to his feet and walked over to the stove, and the lid on the coffeepot rattled when he lifted it up.

"You want some?"

"Sure," Jess said, slipping his hand into his coat pocket. "I ain't had any since yesterday morning."

Since Mrs. Mitchell had made him and Slim breakfast.

There was the dull clank of two tin cups and then Timmo's shuffling steps as he came back to the table. The smell of strong coffee reached Jess's nose before the kid set it in front of him and sat down in the chair he'd been sitting in before.

Jess picked up his cup with his left hand. "Now what?"

"What do you mean? Now we wait till Pa and Betts come back."

"And then you're going to kill me."

"I ain't gonna do anything," Timmo snapped. "I can't help what they do."

"You could let me go. Before you get more blood on your hands."

"I couldn't."

"All right," Jess said, "then before I do."

He sprang out of his chair, grabbed Timmo's arm, and snapped open the razor he'd been concealing.

"Don't move," he growled, his left arm around the kid's neck and his right hand pressing the blade to his cheek. "Don't even breathe. I don't have to see to know what to do with this."

Timmo was shaking, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants, but he didn't make a sound. He didn't struggle.

"Now that gun," Jess said, tightening his hold around the kid's neck. "You toss it over by the front door where I can hear it."

The heavy iron thudded to the floor, telling Jess where the door was.

"Now sit down." He shoved Timmo back into the chair. "Gimme your belt."

"What—"

"Do it!"

Timmo fumbled for a minute and then, with a slithering sound, pulled his belt free.

"Put your hands behind you," Jess ordered. "Go on."

It took him only a minute to strap the kid's wrists to the back of his chair. He made sure the thin belt was tight enough to hold him, and then he put the open razor in his hand.

"That belt'll cut easy," Jess told him. "You'll probably be loose before your pa comes back. But if you are, you'd best hightail it somewhere where he can't find you, understand? He ain't done you no favors up till now."

"You're not gonna—"

"The law'll be after you. You'll have to pay for what you've done, but I've got more important things to see to just now. And I think you've had about all of killin' you can take."

Timmo's shoulders were shaking, and his breath came in sharp little hitches. Stupid kid.

Jess managed to find the gun and the front door.

"Harper?" Timmo sobbed.

Jess stopped, listening.

"I'm s-sorry. I know it don't pay for anything I done, but it's God's truth. I wish I'd stayed with my ma like she begged me."

Jess put the gun in his holster, pulled up the collar of his coat and stepped out into the cold.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Jess stood on the front porch of the Mitchell cabin, shrugging deeper into his coat as the wind hit his face and pressing one hand to the back of his head, to the swollen place that hadn't stopped hurting since he'd first waked up in this merciless darkness. What now? Maybe he should go back in and hold his pistol to Timmo's head and force him to guide him down the road until they reached some kind of help. No, that would be too dangerous. There was no telling what Timmo might do to get himself free, and if he tried something, Jess would have no choice but to shoot him. He didn't want that. He was sick of all the killing. Of the death that seemed to haunt his steps.

He braced himself against the post that held up the porch roof, knowing he was about to step into the dark unknown again, wishing he had time to stop and think, to still his thoughts and catch his breath, but there was no time. He could do nothing for the dead, but he could still help the living. He could still help Slim.

"Please, God, let him be alive."

The words were little more than a low rumble in his chest, hanging for a moment in the frosty air and then whipped away by a stinging gust of wind, lost and gone forever. Clenching his jaw, he stepped off he porch and into the yard and immediately fell headlong into the snow. He struggled to his hands and knees, found the rock he'd stumbled over, and threw it with every bit of strength and frustration still in him. It landed with a harmless thud a few feet away.

He managed to get to his feet, but he didn't start walking again. Not right off. He needed something to help him along the way. Blind men used canes, didn't they? He needed something he could tap along ahead of himself to keep him from tripping. Likely there was a broom or a rake or a hoe in Mitchell's barn. Anything with a long handle would serve.

He took a moment to picture in his mind where the barn was in relation to the house. If he remembered straight, from the porch he could veer to his right and run into the corral fence. That would take him to the corner of the barn, and even he could find the door from there.

It didn't take long for him to reach the relative warmth of the barn. The smell of hay and horses and the quiet shuffling of hooves sent a dart of pain into his heart. He felt his way toward the sound, remembering the worn, spiritless animals Trent and Betts had been leading when he and Slim had caught up to them on the trail.

"Hey, boy," he said softly, stroking his hands along the horse's broad back and then along its neck until he found the halter. This one felt like he was in better shape than the others. Maybe he was Timmo's. The animal whickered a greeting and then nudged Jess's shoulder with his velvet nose. Just like—

He pressed his face against the horse's warm neck, holding tight as Betts' smug voice came back to him.

"_I put a bullet in his brain and the other one's, too."_

Traveller and Alamo. Again Jess stuffed down the grief and fury that tried to choke off his breath. Betts would answer for them and for all the others, no matter if it took the rest of Jess's life to make it happen. But that would come later. First he had to find something to use for a cane.

He stopped himself. Maybe he could ride out. If this was Traveller— He twisted his fingers into the horse's mane, once again smothering the raw pain that threatened to overwhelm him. If this was Traveller, he knew he could clamber up on his bare back and just hang on until they reached home and safety. Traveller would know the way. Who knew what this horse might do? Sure, he might stick to the road, but then again, without a firm hand on the reins, he might just as soon run Jess under a tree branch or walk out into the middle of a field.

No, maybe not. The snow wasn't deep just yet, and if Jess could get to the main part of the road, maybe it had been traveled enough that the horse would naturally pick his way along where the trail was broken or at least where the ground was flatter and easier to cover. As long as Jess didn't let him turn around and head back to the warmth of the barn, maybe it would work. He seemed to remember the road up here was lined with trees. Maybe this horse wouldn't even think of straying off it. Either way, Jess had to try. He'd wasted too much time here, time Slim didn't have. Trent and Betts would be coming back before long, and Jess had to be gone before they did.

"What do you say, boy?" Jess asked as he backed the horse out of the stall. "You wanna go for a little ride?"

The horse nudged his chest and then his coat pocket, doubtless looking for sugar. Timmo musta treated him good. Fool kid, he'd be out here with that razor if Jess waited much longer.

"Come on, now."

He led the horse out of the barn and crossed the yard as near as he could tell to the fence line on the far side of the cabin. That would take him down to the road, and from there he'd have to take his chances. If he could stay on the road, it would take him back down to Cabe Tanner's place at the foot of the hill or Sibley's past that. Either of them was a few miles off, but even moving as slow as he'd have to, Jess was sure he could make it before night. Before the snow hit again.

He wished as he started walking alongside the fence that he'd taken the time to at least drink that coffee he'd been offered. It felt like forever since he'd eaten. Since he'd slept. But he couldn't stop now. Slim's time was runnin' out.

By the time Jess reached the end of the Mitchell fence, the wind had turned colder, more bitter. He could feel the change in the air and knew the snow was coming again. How far was it still? He knew Tanner's fence ran up right beside the left side of the road. He'd have to come on it before long, he was sure, but this darkness, this grim, persistent darkness, made it hard to tell. He hadn't realized how much he depended on his sight to judge time and distance. How much he depended on sight for everything.

"All right, boy," he said, reaching over to stroke the horse's nose. "Ready to give it a try? I promise I'll give you all the sugar you want if you'll just get us somewheres safe before the snow hits."

He horse shifted on his hooves when Jess swung up on his bare back, but he didn't seem to object. He only tossed his head and huffed, seemingly eager to be on his way. Jess leaned down low to pat his neck, for one of the few times in his life feeling uncertain and disoriented astride a horse. He'd once been blindfolded and had his hands tied to the pommel of his saddle. This felt a lot like that, only then someone who could see had taken his horse to lead and all he'd had to concentrate on was staying seated. Now—

He nudged the horse's sides. "Come on, boy. Nice and slow."

He stayed down low, not quite sure why. Maybe because it made him feel less vulnerable out here in the wide open unable to see what he was riding into. Maybe just because it wasn't so far to fall. Boy, as Jess had decided to call the horse, had a smooth, easy gait, and Jess found himself not holding on quite so tightly as he had at first.

He didn't have to urge Boy on much. Maybe the horse didn't have a specific place he thought he should go, but as far as Jess could tell, he seemed to be content to keep to the road. He hadn't felt any change in how Boy walked or brushed up against any trees, but had no idea how far he'd come. There wasn't a sound beyond the warbling of a few snow buntings somewhere off in the trees and, once, the yip of a fox. He heard nothing of anyone riding or working. Smelled no one's hearth fire. There was only the deepening moan of the wind and the rustle of the tree limbs as it rushed through them and made them shudder.

It grew colder still, and Jess was glad for the warmth of the horse under him. He still leaned against Boy's neck, but now it was to keep off the wind. Somehow, he felt like it was getting dark. He couldn't be sure, but there was that feeling in the air and the birds had gone silent. If that was the case, though, how had he not run into Tanner's place or even Sibley's. Could he have missed them both? Maybe that was more likely than him finding them. But maybe Tanner's was close now. He'd been going slow. Maybe he'd just misjudged the distance. Misjudged the time.

He urged Boy to the left, feeling it when the horse's steps grew more cautious, hearing the crunch and soft whoosh as his hooves broke through the deeper drifts of snow at the sides of the road. Jess reached out a cautious hand, guiding the horse further and further to the left until he felt the rough bark of a tree and smelled the thick scent of pine. He'd covered Slim with pine branches and left him in the snow. Oh, God—

He pulled Boy to the right again, putting him, he hoped, back onto the road, urging him into a faster walk. He had to hurry. Slim had been lying up there in that pine grove up by the creek nearly a full day now. Bleeding. Freezing.

"I gotta trust you now, Boy. Stay steady on your feet. Keep us on the road. Hurry."

Holding tighter, Jess kicked him into a trot, praying all the way that he'd keep his seat until they found some help. It didn't seem much later when he realized that the downslope of the road had flattened some. He musta missed Tanner and Sibley both and gotten down out of the hills. He tugged Boy's bridle, bringing him to a stop, and tried to think where they must be. There were a couple of farms down where the road forked off to the left, but the only way he'd know where that fork was would be to walk along that side of the road and see if he could tell when he'd reached it. If he stayed on the road, it'd take him straight into town. It was farther, but it was surer. If only he had time to think on it more.

The first spatter of sleet hit the back of his neck, and he dug his heels into Boy's sides. "Come on now. We still got a ways to go before we hit Laramie."

Boy sprang into a canter. Jess still clung to his neck, not sure what he was really rushing into, but trusting the horse, as he would have trusted Traveller, to head for light and warmth and shelter. How far did they have to go yet? He didn't know, but he could feel the night, he was sure it was night now, and the cold and the fierce wind. The sleet pelted him like handfuls of gravel and froze in his hair, on the lambswool collar of his coat, and in the horse's mane.

Boy slowed, sidling a little sideways, turning his body so he wasn't heading straight into the wind, no doubt uncertain of his way on the icy road.

"Easy," Jess said, patting his neck. "You pick your way, Boy. Go on."

They needed to hurry, but it wouldn't do Slim or anybody any good if Jess was thrown or his horse broke a leg. Patience now. Patience.

Boy slowed more and then Jess pulled him up. Listening. He could hear horses behind him now. Two, no, three of them. They were coming behind him on the road. Down from the hills.

Trent, Betts and Timmo. It had to be.

It had to be.

"Come on, Boy," Jess coaxed. "Please."

He knew they had the same terrible conditions to deal with as he did, but they could see and he couldn't. They'd be on him before long. He could hear one of them back there yelling at him, the wind stealing the meaning of the words but leaving him the sound. They were coming. They were coming and he couldn't get away.

He pushed his reluctant mount on and then once more brought him to a halt. Then, straightening, he wheeled the horse around to face the approaching sound of hooves and drew the gun he'd taken from Timmo.

"That's far enough," he shouted, knowing the wind would carry his words for him. "I can't see you, but I can hear you. And if I can hear you, I've got a better chance than most at hittin' you. Now you just let me hear you head right back the way you came, because you get in range, and this iron's like to go off."

For a moment, he didn't hear anything over the howl of the wind, and then there was just one word.

"Jess?"

Jess froze for a moment, sure the wind or the night or his own mind was playing tricks on him, but he didn't fire when he heard the horses come closer.

"Jess, it's me."

His hand shaking almost too much to do him any good, Jess shoved the gun back into the holster.

"All right if I come over now?"

"Yeah," Jess's said, his voice somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and he reached one desperate hand into the darkness. "Come on over, Mort."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Mort." Jess grabbed the hand that touched his, clinging to it like the lifeline it was, weak-kneed with relief, and fighting to hold himself together in front of the other men. "I thought— I heard three horses and thought you were Trent and his bunch. I guess that's Dan and Trey with you."

Mort moved his horse closer, cupping Jess's cold cheek in one gloved hand. "What's the matter, boy? Why can't you see?"

Jess ducked his head, instinctively pulling away as shame at his helplessness washed over him. "I dunno," he murmured, putting one hand up to the back of his head. "One of 'em hit me, and when I woke up, I couldn't see. Mort, you gotta help me get back to Slim."

"I figured something was wrong. That's why Trey and Dan and I split up lookin' for you two."

"They're not with you?" Jess frowned into the nothingness. "But I heard three—"

One of those three horses nickered, and hot tears sprang to Jess's useless eyes. "Mort?"

"What is it?" Mort said gently, putting a steadying hand on Jess's shoulder. "They're all right. We found 'em up in the hills. Alamo had his reins caught in some brambles and couldn't pull free. Traveller was stayin' right there with him. We thought—"

With a low, shaky laugh, Jess shoved himself off Boy's back and lunged toward the familiar sound, his hands flailing until a warm nose nearly nudged him off his feet. Jess threw his arms around Traveller's neck, clinging there with his fingers twisted into the sleet-dampened mane.

"I thought you were dead, boy," he whispered. "They told me you and Alamo—" He found Slim's horse in the darkness and patted his neck, too, getting another familiar whicker in return. "Are you sure they're all right, Mort?" he choked out. "Both of them?"

"Yeah. We thought they'd thrown you and Slim, but that didn't make any sense. Then we figured somebody'd taken 'em and tried to ride off on 'em and got pitched off for his trouble."

"That musta been what happened," Jess said, swiping his sleeve across his eyes. "One of those snakes who robbed the bank said Trav wouldn't let him ride him. Claimed he shot Trav and Alamo both."

Traveller snuffled against the side of Jess's head and then lipped a lock of his hair. Jess laughed unsteadily and then, after one more relieved hug, swung up into the familiar comfort of his saddle.

"We gotta get back to Slim, Mort. He's shot bad. I tried to get him down to the Mitchell place, but I couldn't do it. I tried to shelter him as best I could, but we can't leave him there another night."

"Now hold on, Jess. Wherever he is, you're not in a fit state to go after him, especially not in this weather."

Jess could picture the sheriff squinting into the darkness, trying to decide what best to do now.

"Looks like it's decided not to sleet much after all," Mort said, "but it's not getting any warmer. Sibley's place isn't far from here. He'll take care of you, and I'll go after Slim. Or, if you think you can make it, we can go on up to the Mitchell place. Might be easier on him if I don't have to bring him all the way down out of the hills in one go."

Jess set his jaw and shook his head. "They're all dead, Mort. Jim. Kitty. Sally. Trent and his bunch did it. They went this morning to track down Slim. I'm prayin' he's hid good enough that they didn't find him. Either way, they're probably back at the cabin holed up for the night." He lifted his head, sniffing the air. "Maybe the sleet stopped, but we're headed for more snow before long. They won't want to be out in it in the dark."

"That won't be for a few hours yet," Mort said. "We still got some daylight, such as it is. I'd better leave you with Sibley and get Slim down here while I can still see."

"It ain't dark yet? I was sure—"

"Not a whole lot past noon. Now, come on, boy. You look like you're about to cave in. When'd you last eat?"

Jess tightened his hands on Traveller's reins. "You ain't leavin' me, Mort, do you hear me? I can show you where Slim is. I'm the only one who knows. If you don't let me, it'll take you a lot longer to find him. That's time he doesn't have. Understand?"

"I can find him if you can just describe the place," Mort insisted. "I'm sorry, Jess, but bein' blind, you'll only slow me down."

"I can't describe it, Mort. Just in a grove of pines by the creek up past Mitchell's, but I'll know it. I'm sure I will. I walked every step from there to the cabin alone in the dark last night."

"Jess—"

Jess managed to grab hold of the front of his coat. "We got no time, Mort! Don't you understand? We've got to get up there now!"

"All right. All right." Mort peeled Jess's hands off him. "But we're neither of us gonna do him a lick a good if we can't even get him into a saddle. Now, you go with me to Sibley's—"

"Mort, I told you—"

"Just hear me out. Sibley's is on the way back up into the hills. We could both use something hot to eat and some coffee to wash it down. We'll get warmed up and get Sibley to let us use his wagon. That'd be a whole lot better than trying to haul him down on horseback or on a travois. And if you want these horses to hold up, they'd better have some grain and water and a good rest."

Jess opened his mouth to protest again, and then he swiped one shaky hand over it. Mort was right. He didn't like seeing a horse used hard, and he was about to cave in himself. Maybe some food and some coffee would be enough to keep him on his feet until they got Slim somewheres safe, and by wagon would be a lot better way to do it. If Slim was still alive.

"Okay," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he stroked Traveller's neck again. "Okay, we'll stop at Sibley's. But, Mort, not for long, all right? We may be too late as it is."

"All right, Jess," Mort soothed. "All right. We'll get up there quick as we can. I promise you."

"You'd better take my reins," Jess said when Mort didn't say anything more. "I missed Sibley's somewhere on the way down. I couldn't really tell you where we are."

"That's all right. I'll lead Traveller." Mort handed Jess the other two horses' reins. "You hang on to Slim's horse and your mare there."

Mort started them moving forward, and Jess couldn't hold back a low, mirthless laugh as he tugged the mare close enough for him to pat her withers.

"Sorry, Boy," he said softly. "And thanks."

On the way to Sibley's, Jess told Mort about what had happened up in the hills, how he'd tried to carry Slim down to the Mitchell cabin and then been forced to leave him. He told him about finding the Mitchells laid out dead in the bedroom and how he'd escaped, leaving Timmo belted to the chair with the straight razor in his hand.

"Right now, I don't know where any of 'em are," he said, overwhelmingly relieved that he wouldn't be facing this alone now, whatever happened. "It shouldn't have taken Timmo long to cut himself free. If Trent and Betts didn't find Slim, and I don't think they would, they likely came back to the cabin. I hope Timmo was gone by then. His pa and that so-called friend of theirs, Betts, are the worst thing that ever happened to him."

"I see too much of it," Mort said, urging his horse to move a little faster. "Too many kids like that get pulled into something they can't get out of. It's a shame. It's a shame all the way around."

"Yeah." Jess hunched his shoulders against the wind. "I shoulda—"

"You did what you had to, boy," Mort said. "More than most coulda or woulda. I've been tryin' to ride herd on this little part of Wyoming for a lot of years. One thing I've learned is that, no matter how hard I try, I can't do everything, be everything, fix everything. Sometimes I have to do the best I can and call it good. You'd better learn that, too, boy, or you're gonna tear yourself to pieces."

Jess didn't answer him. There wasn't much he could say.

OOOOO

Zeke Sibley was a wizened little old man who'd lived up in the hills as long as anybody could remember. For the most part, he kept to himself and asked nothin' of nobody, but he was always friendly when folks stopped by and offered the hospitality of his home, such as it was, with an open hand. Jess had often come by just to check on the old man and help him out wherever he could, just as a neighborly thing to do. Zeke, in return, gave him the best coffee in territory barring only Miss Daisy's. Sometimes even hers wasn't as good, though Jess would deny that on his deathbed if he were to be asked.

"Come on in and welcome," Zeke said when Mort knocked on his door, asking for an hour's shelter for himself and Jess and for their horses. "I keep hopin' I'll take in one of them unaware angels the Book talks about, though it ain't too likely one of 'em will be wearin' a badge."

Mort had ahold of Jess's arm and guided him to a chair by the fire.

"What is it, Jess?" the old man asked, after he'd probably been gawking at him the whole time. "What's wrong with you?"

"We've got some trouble," Mort explained. "We're out after some men who robbed the Laramie bank. They killed a teller and Jim Mitchell and his wife and daughter. Jess got hurt goin' after 'em and is having problems seein'. Slim's hurt, too. We gotta go get him and bring him back home."

Zeke whistled low. "I'm sorry about that, Jess-boy. Is there somethin' I could do to help?"

Jess managed a little bit of a smile. "Some of that coffee I smell'd be the best thing I can think of right off."

"Comin' right up, boy. Mort? What about you?"

"I'd better put these horses up for a while. Mind if I give 'em some oats? They've earned 'em. When this is over, I'll bring you some more. And replace whatever else we use of yours."

"I ain't keepin' count between friends, Mort. You go right ahead. You boys hungry? I got some beans and bacon just itchin' to be cooked up."

Jess's empty stomach clenched and the ache in his head intensified. He had to eat if he was going to be any good to Slim now.

"We'd be obliged, Zeke," Mort said. "Thanks. I'll see to those horses and be right back."

The cabin door opened, letting in a blast of winter wind before it closed."

Jess heard the clink of a tin cup and the sound if it being filled. Then Zeke limped over to where Jess sat and put the cup in his hands.

"Thanks."

Jess let the heat warm his fingers and then let the coffee warm his insides as the fire warmed his outside. He hadn't realized how cold he'd been all this time. How hungry. How tired.

"How bad off's Slim?" Zeke asked after he'd started frying up the bacon.

"Pretty bad last night," Jess said.

"I got some blankets and some bandages you can have for him. Don't got no proper medicine, but I got a bottle of whiskey I been savin'. You take that and welcome. In this weather, he's gonna need it."

"Thanks. I expect he will."

Pretty soon, the smell of beans mingled with the bacon, and Mort came inside, stamping his feet and then clomping over to the fire to get warm.

"Here's your coffee, sheriff," Zeke said. "Food's comin' up. I'd be pleased to go with you to find Slim, but this knee of mine wouldn't let me be much more'n a nuisance."

"It's all right, Zeke," Mort said. "You're helpin' us where it counts most right now."

It wasn't long before Zeke served up the food. Jess was surprised by how ravenous he suddenly was, but he also realized his blindness affected his ability to use a spoon without smearing the contents all over his face and dribbling them down his front. After a couple of tries, he gave up on the beans and concentrated on the bacon. He could eat that with his fingers.

"Have mine," Mort said, scraping his tin plate as he transferred his bacon to Jess's. "I like the beans better anyway."

Jess knew he was lying and was grateful for it. He ate the bacon anyway and was grateful for that, too.

"We gotta get going, Mort," he said once he was finished and Zeke brought him a second cup of coffee. "Zeke gathered up some supplies for us. For Slim. What else do we need?"

"That's it. I'll hitch up the wagon. All right if I use your team, Zeke? Jess's horse'd pitch a fit if I tried to put him in harness."

"Go right on, Mort," Zeke said. "That's what I keep 'em for."

A few minutes later, Mort came back from the barn. "All right, Jess. Time we were goin'."

Jess stood, and Mort took his arm.

"Thanks, Zeke," Mort said. "We'll be back. Soon, I hope."

"You take care, boys," Zeke said. "That's a nasty bunch out there."

"We'll get 'em," Jess said, his voice low and grim.

Zeke gave his shoulder a pat. "I expect you will. You bring Slim on back here. We'll see he gets taken care of."

"Thanks."

Jess downed the last of his coffee and then let Mort lead him to the wagon and help him into the seat. The wagon shifted as Mort climbed in beside him and started the horses on their way.

"I mean it," Zeke called after them. "You bring Slim back here."

"You keep that coffee hot," Mort called back.

OOOOO

Jess didn't say much as they drove up into the hills. Mostly he told Mort what he remembered when he'd come up that way the first time, when he could see the trees lining the road and the way the creek ran alongside it when they got further up.

"Where are we now?" he'd ask, and Mort would describe it for him.

They didn't stop at the Mitchell place, though Jess warned Mort to be extra careful around it. Maybe Trent, Betts, and Timmo were long gone by now. Then again, maybe they weren't.

Finally Mort was describing a narrow road lined with trees and then, even before Mort said anything, Jess smelled the crisp scent of pine.

"What's it look like, Mort?" Jess asked, clutching the wagon seat.

"Kind of an open area. It's snowed some over it, but it looks like this place was walked over recently. Or dragged over."

Jess pointed to his right. "Is there a grove of pines that way?"

"Yeah, but I don't see any—"

Jess vaulted out of the wagon and to the ground.

"Hold on, now, Jess. Let me stop the horses before you break your fool neck." Mort pulled up, jumped down beside him, and took his arm. "Now what are we lookin' for? I don't see a blasted thing."

Jess nearly dragged him off his feet. "Help me over to the trees. I made a bed of pine branches and put Slim on 'em. Then I covered him with 'em. He's here somewhere. He's got to be."

_Alive_, Jess prayed. _Please, God, alive._

"It looks like there's a mound at the foot of that big pine there," Mort said. "This way."

Jess dropped to his knees at the place Mort brought him to and thrust his hands into the snow and down into what could only be pine needles.

"He's here, Mort. Right here."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Kay for pointing out my boo-boo in Chapter Eight. I always seem to miss something, but I really appreciate it when someone catches it for me.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Help me, Mort."

Jess shoved away handfuls of snow and then started tossing aside pine branches, digging down into the mound where he had left Slim the day before. He could feel Mort doing the same beside him.

"Hurry, Mort. We gotta hurry."

He could hear the sheriff's quickening breaths along with his own. It seemed to take forever, but Jess finally felt the heavy wool of Slim's coat and the broad buttons holding it closed. He moved his hands up, clearing more snow, more branches.

"Help me!"

"It's okay," Mort said. "We're gettin' him."

Jess finally felt something soft and textured. Slim's muffler. It had to be. Jess wadded it in both hands and shoved it aside and then pushed back the hat.

"Slim?" Jess cupped the cold face in both gloved hands. "Pard?"

No response.

He could hear Mort moving more branches, and he felt Slim's arm shift. Mort had to be feeling for a pulse.

"Mort?"

"I don't know," Mort said, his voice taut, almost breathless. "Come on, Slim. Give us a sign."

His throat tightening, Jess stripped off his gloves and then pressed his bare hand to the side of Slim's' neck, cold on cold. How could he tell?

"Come on now, boy," Mort said, and Jess could hear him slapping Slim's wrist. "You wanna sleep the day away?"

Jess pressed harder against Slim's neck, finally finding the vein against the corded muscle. He was shaking so bad, he couldn't be sure. Was that—?

"Mort?" He grabbed the sheriff's hand and jammed it against Slim's neck in place of his own. "Do you feel it?"

There was an agonizing moment of breathless silence, then Mort made a low sound, maybe a relieved laugh.

"Yeah. I feel it. Come on, boy. Wake up."

Jess pushed Mort aside and again put his bare hands on either side of Slim's still face. "Come on, pard." He gave Slim a sharp, light slap and got no response. "Slim."

"I'll get that whiskey," Mort said, and he scrambled away.

Jess grabbed hold of Slim's coat collar, pulling him up a little with one hand and giving his cold cheek another sharp slap. "Slim!"

He heard a harsh intake of breath followed by a low groan.

"Yeah," Jess breathed, the word half-choked, "that's it, you lazy, tall drink of water. Time to wake up."

He heard the crunch of Mort's boots in the snow and then felt him kneel down at Slim's side.

"Better get some of this in him first," Mort said, and Jess heard the squeak and pop of the cork on the whisky bottle. "I'll check that wound."

Jess took the bottle and slipped one hand behind Slim's head. "Come on, pard. Take a slug a this."

He managed to get a sip of the whiskey into Slim's mouth and not too much down the side of his face. Slim coughed a little, but that was all. Jess tried a little more, but Slim suddenly started struggling, his breathing labored.

"What are you doing to him, Mort?"

"Just keep him still the best you can," Mort said. "I've gotta get this bandage changed. Try to get a little more of that whiskey down him. It'll help."

"Just rest easy there, pard." Jess got Slim to drink a little more and held him still while Mort worked. "We're gonna get you home before long. You get some of Miss Daisy's good cookin' in you, and you'll be good as new. Why she'll spoil you so rotten, we'll never get you to work again." He kept his voice low and calm, and Slim stilled a little. "I been busy while you been having your beauty sleep. But I figure you'd want to know that Traveller and Alamo are okay. Mort found 'em. Alamo got his reins caught, and Trav was stayin' right there with him, like a good pard."

Slim gasped and tried to pull away again.

"Keep him still!" Mort snapped.

Jess held down Slim's shoulders, still keeping his voice gentle and soothing. "Just hang on, Slim. You're all right." He gave Slim more whiskey. "You know, ol' Zeke Sibley's been savin' this for somethin' special. I don't figure he meant to waste it on a big hayburner like you. But he's got some of that good coffee waitin' for us down his place. He probably won't mind if you sweeten it with a little of this. Medical purposes only, now, mind you, or I'll tell Jonesy on you next time I write him and Andy. Boy, when I tell him what all you did just to get a little whisky and sympathy—"

Slim groaned and then went limp.

"Mort?" Jess asked, suddenly afraid.

The sheriff exhaled heavily. "He's out again. Probably for the best."

"But how is he? Is he gonna be all right?"

"I don't know, Jess. Looks like the bullet went through him, so there's that to be thankful for. I don't know if the cold hurt him or helped him. He's lost a good deal of blood, but not as much as I expected with him lyin' here so long. Looks like this little shelter you made him was enough to keep the warmth and life in him till now. We just have to see about keepin' him alive till we can get him a doctor."

Jess tightened his hold on Slim's shoulders and then released it with a pat. Then he took a deep drink of the whiskey for himself. It bit as it went down, but then he felt the much-needed warmth spread through his body. Good. It was good. Something else to thank God for.

"I'm gonna bring the wagon over," Mort said. "We gotta get him wrapped up in those blankets and get him into some shelter. What do you think? Should we risk Mitchell's place?"

"No!" Jess tightened his fists, remembering the cold, lifelessness of Sally Mitchell's face, and then let out a shaky breath. "No. We don't know where Trent and his gang are. They might be holed up in there. Unless you think Slim can't make it down to Sibley's."

"I got him bandaged up all right. He ought to make it just fine, especially since he'll be lyin' in the wagon bed."

"'sides, Zeke'll be waitin' on us with that coffee of his."

"All right, Jess," Mort said, and there was a touch of a smile in his voice. "We'll go on down there. Think you can help me get Slim in the wagon?"

"Sure. Just don't ask me to drive."

Mort snorted and then went to get the wagon. Between the two of them, Jess and Mort managed to get Slim into the wagon bed and bundle him up in the blankets Sibley had given them. Jess got in with him and sat with his back braced against the back of the wagon seat and Slim's head in his lap.

"You all settled?" Mort asked.

"Yeah. Is he all covered up? Laid out comfortable?"

"As best we can do for now. You just keep him as quiet as you can. If he wakes up, don't let him thrash around back there."

"All right."

"And if you need help, you let me know."

"Just get us to Sibley's, Mort. Quick as you can."

OOOOO

Slim stirred again after they had driven a while. "Jess?" he breathed. "Jess? That you?"

"Right here, pard. How is it?"

Slim was silent for a moment, breathing hard as if just that much had worn him out.

"Where?" he gasped finally.

Jess wasn't sure how far they'd come or how far they had yet to go, but he didn't let on. "We're headed down to Zeke Sibley's. Ol' Zeke's waitin' coffee for us."

"The outlaws—"

"We're okay, pard. Mort's drivin' us down to Zeke's and then he'll get us home. He says you're doin' fine." That wasn't exactly true, but it was the best thing Jess knew to say just now. "You drink a little more of this medical purposes, and you'll feel a lot better."

Slim was awake enough to take a good belt of the whiskey even if it did make him cough. Jess could feel him tremble a little at that, could hear his short, hard breaths, and knew he must be hurtin' pretty good by then.

"Do you remember what I told you about Traveller and Alamo?" he asked Slim,

"Gone," Slim said, his breathing growing more rapid. "S'mbody took 'em,"

"Mort got 'em back," Jess assured him. "Just lie still there, pard. Mort got 'em back, They're down at Sibley's gettin' fat on his oats."

He could barely hear Slim's low laugh, but it made him smile, too.

"You know how those two are if anybody but us tries to ride 'em," he said. "I tell you what, I coulda kissed 'em both when Mort brought 'em back. Funny thing is, when he caught up to me, I was ridin' this horse I called Boy. Turns out she was—"

A rifle shot cut through the air above Jess's head, and he huddled over Slim, slipping his pistol in between the blankets. The wagon lurched to a stop, and Jess realized Slim was out cold again.

"Who's out there?" Mort shouted. "This is Sheriff Cory out of Laramie. Show yourself."

"You just keep your hands away from your gun, sheriff."

The voice came from a little ways away, but Jess knew it. He'd never forget it. It was Betts.

"What do you want?" Mort asked. "We got nothin' you'd be interested in. Just a hurt man that needs to get back to town."

"Oh, no," said another voice from over the same way, and Jess knew that one was Trent. "We got business with Harper there. You just set him down on the road, and we'll let you go on about your business."

Jess stayed huddled where he was.

"He can't see," Mort said. "He can't hurt you. Just let us pass."

"He's already hurt me," Trent said. "He's hurt me bad, and I'm gonna kill him for it."

"Let us be," Jess yelled into the darkness. "If you two had any sense, you'd a lit out for Canada yesterday."

"Time enough for that."

Jess could hear the crunch of the snow as the two of them moved closer.

"Time enough for that," Trent said again from beside the wagon. "First I'm settlin' with you."

Jess heard Betts move up by the horses.

"You just keep your hands on those traces, Sheriff, and away from your gun while my partner does what needs doin'."

"I'll track you two down," Mort said, his voice low and tight. "Go to Canada or to China if you like, I'll find you."

Betts cocked his pistol and laughed low. "Not if you're dead, sheriff."

There was a hard snap of leather on flesh. Betts swore, and two guns went off almost simultaneously. Something heavy fell onto the road, and behind Jess, the wagon seat swayed.

"Mort?" Jess called into the darkness. "Mort!'

"He can't hear you, Harper," Trent said.

He was still standing right beside the wagon. Right next to Jess.

"Dead?" Jess asked, still huddling over Slim.

"Him and Betts both, looks like. Can't say I much mind being shed of Betts. He liked killin' too much. Bought us more trouble than he was worth."

Jess grit his teeth, his fist tightening on the pistol he still held. "You done your share."

"Maybe. Maybe so. When I had to. Like seein' to you now."

"Ain't you done enough already?"

"I owe you, Harper." Trent's voice was suddenly raw with emotion. "For Timmo. You'll pay for that."

"I didn't do nothin' to Timmo but tell him to get away from you."

"Don't lie." Trent cocked his gun. "You don't want to stand before God with a lie in your mouth, do you, boy? Now, turn your face away. Makes it easier on me."

Jess turned his head, his mind working furiously as he prayed a desperate prayer. Something. Anything.

From the wagon seat, there was a low groan, and Trent snorted.

"Looks like Betts didn't quite finish the job. I'd better see to it. Turn your face away, sheriff. Makes it easier—"

Before he had a chance to think too hard, Jess whipped the pistol out from under Slim's blanket and fired it into the darkness where Trent's voice had come from. Trent's gun went off a split second later, and a bullet whistled past Jess's ear. Then there was silence.

A moment later, he heard the air seeping out of a body and the heavy sound of that body dropping into the snow.

Jess laid Slim's head down on the wagon bed and scrambled to his feet behind the seat. "Mort? You all right, Mort?"

Mort groaned again.

Jess put his hands on the sheriff's shoulders. "You hurt bad?"

Mort blew out his breath. "Just a crease, I think. My land, boy, remind me not to get on your bad side. How in the world did you do that?"

"I can't see, Mort. Don't mean I can't still hear and can't still shoot." Jess laughed shakily and sat back down in the wagon bed. "Just don't ask me to do that ever again." He swiped one hand over the sudden sweat on his upper lip. "They both dead?"

"I expect so. I'd better check."

The wagon seat swayed. Jess could hear Mort's boots in the snow as he went from one body to the other. Then the seat swayed again.

"Both dead," Mort said. "Looks like there's gonna be a lot of bodies to bring down to Mr. Birdsong's before long."

"What about their horses?" Jess asked. "We can leave 'em tied and saddled up here."

"I'll get 'em. They're up in those trees."

Mort tied the two horses to the back of the wagon, and Jess figured they were likely the ill-used ones Trent and Betts had been riding before. They wouldn't be ill-used anymore, not at the Sherman Ranch.

"How's Slim?" Mort asked when he got back into the wagon seat.

"Passed out," Jess told him, "but he seems to be breathin' quiet. We'd better get him down to Sibley's."

"All right. You still got that bottle?"

Jess grinned. "Yeah."

He felt around the wagon bed, found the whiskey, and held up to Mort. Mort took it and took an audible swig.

"You'd better have one yourself," he told Jess, handing it back. "And keep the rest for Slim."

Jess did as he was told, and then he settled back against the back of the wagon seat. Mort started the team once more toward Sibley's, and finally giving in to the bone-deep weariness, Jess closed his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"Jess? C'mon, Jess. You're gonna be late."

Jess opened his eyes and then screwed them shut again, the merciless light intensifying the pounding pain in his head.

"C'mon, pard. Everybody's already at the church. You can't be late. Not today."

"Slim?" Jess opened his eyes just a slit, and a familiar face came into focus. "Slim. What—"

"Well, c'mon. It's not every day we get two at the same time."

Jess opened his eyes just a little more and blinked into the low afternoon sun. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Just lemme get ready."

He ran one hand over his jaw and then down his front. No, that wouldn't do. He couldn't go with a day or two of stubble on his face and wearing his beat-up old coat and dirty jeans when Slim had on his Sunday shirt and his brocade vest with his boots spit-shined and his hair slicked back.

"Slim, what—"

"You know, pard. Pete and Geneva. Trey and Sally. They're probably already there, all dressed fine and with flowers everywhere. They wouldn't want to start without you." Slim grinned at him. "You made it all possible."

_Pete and Geneva? Trey and Sally?_

Jess rubbed his eyes again. The light still made them ache, and he wasn't seeing too clear. "Slim?"

Slim swatted his shoulder. "I'll get the horses. Hurry now."

"Yeah. Okay."

Jess looked down and saw that he was ready after all, as neat and well dressed as Slim, fancy vest and everything else. All he needed was his gun, but he couldn't seem to find it.

"Slim? Where's my gun?"

He looked around, but Slim was gone and so was the harsh sunlight, leaving only the soft grays and purples of twilight. He was taking too long. Pete and Trey were waiting to marry their girls. He didn't want to be late. And he didn't need his gun for a wedding.

He went out into the street. Everything was quiet beneath the whisper of the wind, but there were lights in the church at the top of the hill. He quickened his step and soon the faint strains of the organ drifted out to him. "The Wedding March," it had to be. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He had a little more wedding experience now. This time he'd stand well out of range when the brides tossed their bouquets.

Sooner than he thought, he was there and humming with the music of the organ. _Abide with me; fast falls the eventide . . ._ Not the music he expected, but music he knew. Words he knew. An odd choice for a wedding. More seemly for—

He hesitated at the door, filled with sudden foreboding, but he pushed it open anyway. The pews were filled with people. The church was filled with white flowers. The two young couples were there at the front with the preacher reading over them. But the people were weeping. The flowers were lilies, not roses. The couples were in unrelieved black.

Trey stood with Sally cradled in his arms, his face tear stained, hers cold and bloodless, and her dark hair hung down to the floor with her black lace veil. Beside them, Pete lay sprawled on the floor, his head in Geneva's lap, in the pool of her black silk skirts, in the pool of his blood, and she bent over him, weeping.

The cloying odor of lilies filled the room, the scent meant to cover the smell of death, and the organ played on, the words again running through Jess's head. _The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide_ . . .

He slipped through the door and shut it soundlessly behind him. There was nowhere to sit, but it would be better to stand here at the back, in the shadows. Maybe nobody would notice he'd come in. Maybe they wouldn't realize—

He stepped on something hard, and it made a scraping sound against the floor. His gun. He dropped to one knee to pick it up and when he straightened, everyone in the pews had turned to stare at him.

"_They wouldn't want to start without you," _Slim had said. _"You made it all possible."_

Jess moved away from them, needing to feel the wall against his back as much as the assurance of the gun in his hand. He'd been too late, waited too long, and all of them knew it. They all glared at him, Trey and Geneva, too, their eyes hard. Accusing.

"_You made it all possible."_

Jess took another step back, looking everywhere for Slim. He'd come on ahead to the church. Where was he? Where—

An arm snaked around his neck, pulling him backward nearly off his feet. He saw the glint of light on metal and recognized the flash of a razor as it came up to rest against the throbbing vein in his neck. Then there was a whisper from the darkness.

"Put your gun in the holster."

"Timmo."

"Do like I say," Timmo breathed against his ear. "Do like I say."

Every eye in the church was still on Jess. Nobody seemed to notice the razor at his throat or the man who held it there. No one seemed to care. The music and the preacher's words went on.

Jess licked his suddenly dry lips. "Timmo, I— "

"No, shh. It ain't right to disturb a solemn occasion like this. And I ain't gonna keep you from watching your friends get read over. You made all of this possible. You ought to get to enjoy it."

"Timmo—"

"Shh, just listen. Listen to how nice the service is. They get a proper sendoff, not left out in the open for coyotes to find. It's kinda nice this way."

"Timmo, your pa—"

"But then you're the one who left your best pard to die in the cold, too, ain't you? I guess I oughtn't be surprised."

"No," Jess said low, "that ain't so. Slim's alive. He's gonna be all right."

"Is he?"

The words were barely a breath, but they shook Jess to his boots.

_Is he?_

Then he saw the pile of pine branches there in the dark corner of the church, and Timmo shoved him toward them, his low laugh stark in the awful gloom.

"Go on, Harper. You find out. You go on and find out."

Jess dropped to his knees in the darkness and started flinging the branches aside, more and more, an endless mound, now seeing nothing, hearing nothing but his own strained breathing and continuing strains of the hymn. _Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me_ . . .

"Please, God," he breathed. "Help me."

"Jess." The voice was far off. "Jess? Come on, Jess."

"Slim?"

The voice was somewhere above him, beside him. He tried to turn, but his legs wouldn't let him. They were weighted somehow.

"Where are you? Slim?"

"Come on, boy," the voice said.

It wasn't Slim. He had to find Slim, but it was dark. It was so dark now, and the music was gone. He was still sitting on the floor and his back was to the wall, but the music was gone, the words were gone, and he was cold.

"Here now, Jess," the voice said, and there was a warm hand on the side of his face. "We gotta get you two inside."

Inside where? Which two?

"What?" Jess asked, and his voice sounded suddenly loud.

"We're at Sibley's, boy. We gotta get Slim inside."

"Mort."

They were at Sibley's. Slim was shot and laid out in the back of the wagon. And Jess was stone blind.

"Fell asleep," he muttered, trying to clear the cobwebs and the terror from his head. "How's Slim?"

He reached out until his hands found Slims hat and scarf and then his cold cheek. He pulled off his glove and held his hand lightly over Slim's mouth and nose. Still breathing. Still breathing.

"We need to get him inside," Mort said. "You, too."

"Yeah." Jess tried to shift his legs a little bit, but they were almost numb. "Sorry I couldn't stay awake."

"I know you haven't slept in some while, son," Mort said. "You needed it."

Jess managed to get to his knees and then stood up in the wagon bed, steadying himself on the seat until the feeling came back into his legs. "Tell me what I need to do, Mort."

Mort took hold of his arm. "Let me help you down. Then we'll see to Slim."

Jess heard the cabin door open and then Sibley's ungainly stride as he came toward them.

"Well, praise be, you found him. He still alive?"

"Hangin' on," Mort said.

He led Jess to the end of the wagon bed and then to the ground, and between the two of them and with Sibley giving directions the whole while, they got Slim into the cabin and onto Sibley's bunk.

"Ain't much," the old man said, "but it's best in the house."

"It'll do fine," Mort assured him. "Now we gotta build up that fire and make up a bed for Jess, too."

"How you doin', boy?" Sibley asked, putting a gentle hand on Jess's shoulder. "You must be about fallin' down by now."

"I'm all right. You and Mort see to Slim."

"We are," Mort said. "You sit down till I can tend to you. Zeke, why don't you go out and get what's left of that whiskey out of the wagon? Slim's gonna need it, and so are Jess and I."

"How bad you hurt, Mort?" Zeke asked.

"This is nothin'. I hardly feel it. Now go on. Better put up those horses, too."

"You're a liar," Jess said when the old man was gone. "That bullet was enough to put you out, even if it was only for a minute or so."

"There's a chair about two feet to your left. You sit down or I'll tie you down, boy," Mort snapped. "Keep on standin' there, and we'll see how big a liar I am."

"But Slim—"

"Slim's out of it right now. From what I can see, he's still bleedin'. I gotta get a doctor up here. First, I gotta change that bandage. I can't do that if I have to keep nursemaidin' you. Now sit."

Jess sat, and after a while, Zeke came back inside.

"This is more'n half gone, Mort," the old man said with a slosh of the bottle.

"That's all right. We'll use what we have, and I'll get more when I go for Doc Hanson. Now come help me."

"Right," Zeke said.

"Mort," Jess began.

Mort huffed. "Zeke, give him a cup of coffee and make it about half whiskey. Then come help me."

Zeke chuckled and went to the stove. A few seconds later, he thrust a hot cup into Jess's hands.

"I'd advise you to drink that down and stay put, Jess-boy. Slim's gonna need me and Mort both for a little while, and then I gotta tame down the sheriff enough to get him bandaged up, too."

"Yeah," Jess said, feeling the warmth seep into his fingers, eager for the drink to heat his insides. "You take care of 'em both, okay, Zeke?"

"Don't you worry."

Cooled by the whiskey, the coffee was a fit temperature to drink. Jess took a deep swallow and felt it burn down to his toes. He kept drinking as he listened to Mort and Zeke, but other than Mort's terse instructions and Zeke's occasional soothing words when Slim got restless, he could tell very little about what was going on. Slim was alive yet. Maybe that ought to be enough for now. He drained his cup and laid his head on the table in front of him, suddenly too weary to hold it up, but the thought of sleep wasn't a welcome one, not after his latest dreams. _Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me._

"That's about all I can do for him now," Mort said finally.

Jess straightened in his chair, feeling a little bit of the effect of that enhanced coffee on his empty stomach. "How is he?"

"I don't know, Jess. I wish I did. Alive is about all I can tell you. I gotta get down into town for the doctor."

"Oh, no," Zeke said. "Now it's my time to run things, sheriff, and you ain't settin' foot outta this cabin till I see to that head of yours. Now come sit down."

"Now look here—"

"You're wastin' time," Zeke warned.

Mort dropped into a chair. "Go on."

"Maybe you oughta give him some coffee like you made for me," Jess suggested as a wave of drowsiness swept over him. "I'll go sit by Slim."

"You'll lie down and go to sleep," Mort said. "Ow!"

"Sit still then," Zeke snapped.

"I slept already," Jess said.

Mort snorted. "For all the rest you got. Don't think I didn't hear you back there tossin' and mumblin'. Anybody less stubborn'd be passed out by now."

"But Slim—"

"Slim ain't goin' anywhere. Zeke'll look after you both till I can get back up here."

"I'll make you a bed on the floor 'longside a where Slim is," Zeke said. "That's near enough the stove where'll you'll both be plenty warm." He was silent for a moment. "There you are, sheriff. Now you can carry on."

"All right," Mort said. "Now, if you've got a little something I can carry with me to eat on the trail, I'll get along."

"Got some cold ham," Zeke said. "Some bread and butter and some apples."

"That'll do me fine. If you'll wrap that up for me, I'll be saddling my horse."

"Mort?" Jess said into the darkness.

Mort walked over to him. "What is it, Jess?"

"I guess I've lost all sense of time. Are you gonna be able to get down to town and back before dark? I can feel the snow comin'."

"I'm gonna have to, boy. I don't know if Slim's gonna make it, still bleedin' like he is."

"What about the ranch?" Jess asked.

"Yeah, I could probably get there quicker, but what good's that gonna do?"

"Daisy." Jess smiled a little, thinking on how many times the indomitable little lady had taken care of him and Slim both. "If Slim can't wait, maybe we ought to get him down to Daisy."

"You just got him in and settled," Zeke protested.

"Mort got his bandage changed," Jess said. "That had to be done, but now that it _is_ done, couldn't we get him down to the ranch? Then you could go for the doctor, Mort. Wouldn't it be better?"

"Now, I don't know, Jess," Mort said. "He's had a rough ride just to get here. Add more'n double that—"

"But can he wait to be seen to? I mean, by somebody who knows doctorin'?"

Mort was silent. Thinking.

"And if you go and get snowed up in town," Jess added, "you might not get Slim a doctor till tomorrow. Or maybe days from now. Mort, I can't see the sky. I just don't know. I don't know what the weather's gonna do, and I don't know if he can wait."

He heard Mort walk across the room, to a window no doubt, and then he walked back.

"I don't know, Jess. I guess either way's a risk, and I'm not gonna lie to you. He might not make it whether or not we move him and whether or not he gets some doctorin'. We're taking our chances either way. You're right about the snow comin'. It might hold off till dark, but if it catches us out there with him, that might put an end to the question right there."

"I know," Jess said, his voice grim and low. "But if it was me, I'd rather be home with Daisy lookin' after me, and I think Slim'd think the same." He stood up, and reached out his hand. "Can you take me over to him, Mort?"

"Sure."

Mort took his arm and led him over to the bunk. Jess found the side of it, got down on his knees, and managed to catch hold of Slim's hand.

"Slim?"

There was no answer. Jess hadn't really expected one. He pressed his fingers to Slim's wrist and found his pulse weak but steady, and then he laid one hand on his forehead. His skin was hot and dry, but he was breathing without too much of a struggle.

"How's he look, Mort?"

Mort put a hand on Jess's shoulder. "Not good, Jess."

Jess pushed the tangled hair off Slim's forehead and then got to his feet. "Then we'd best get him down to Daisy."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well nothing can be easy for our boys. I'd love to know what you think of this latest chapter. **

**To my guest poster who is a retired nurse: Thanks so much for your comments. I **_**always**_** want to hear from any of my readers who find a mistake anywhere even if it's just a misplaced comma or a misspelled word. I especially want to hear about factual errors. I can never see my own work with fresh eyes, and I always seem to miss something. Regarding your comments about veins and arteries, I realize there's a difference, but when writing scenes in Jess's point of view, I can only see and know what he sees and knows. I don't think he would be aware of the difference between an artery and a vein, and he would probably think of all blood vessels as veins, as in "he had ice water in his veins." So, yes, I made a deliberate choice, in his point of view, to use "vein," but again, I appreciate the comment. Even though I have a reason for being technically wrong, it's nice to know you were interested enough to mention it. **


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The sleet that had come and gone earlier returned with a howling vengeance when Mort had Zeke Sibley's wagon about halfway down to the ranch with Traveller and Alamo tied on behind. Now Jess was huddled under a couple of Zeke's blankets, leaning over Slim, trying to keep him as warm as he could, talking to him the whole way, knowing he wasn't heard and that Slim wouldn't have understood him anyway, knowing that, beyond that, he had precious little help or comfort to give.

Mort and Zeke hadn't been able to stop the bleeding. Jess was still keeping pressure on the wound, but he knew that wasn't really helping either. He didn't need to see to be aware that the constant flow of blood that soaked the bandage and was slick against his fingers worsened with every jolt of the wagon.

"Mort!" Jess shouted, not sure if he could be heard over the shriek of the wind. "Mort!"

Mort didn't respond, so Jess stuck his head out from under the blankets, and sleet hit his face like fine, stinging gravel.

"Mort!"

"What is it?" Mort shouted back.

"How much longer? Slim's about gone!"

"Best I can tell, we got about another mile to that ridge above the ranch house! Just keep him alive till then!"

"Right!"

He ducked back under cover. Just keep him alive. Sure. Why hadn't he thought of that one himself?

"You heard what Mort said, Hardrock." He gripped the lambswool collar of Slim's coat. "You're supposed to keep alive till we get you home. Daisy's gonna be awful put out with you if you don't, and you know if Daisy ain't happy, ain't nobody gonna be happy." He swallowed hard and forced a useless smile. "She's like to use that wooden spoon on you as it is. And Mike, well, you still ain't taught him how to rope right, and you know I ain't got time for that kind a foolishness. I gotta do most a the work 'round the place as it is, even when you ain't flat on your back, so don't think for even a minute you're gonna leave it all to me. Don't think—"

He swiped the back of one gloved hand over his eyes, wishing the blow that had taken his sight had also taken their tendency to betray him if he didn't keep a tight rein on himself..

"Don't think you're gettin' outta payin' your half of what it cost to get Daisy that silk dress for Christmas," He laughed half under his breath. "And it ain't goin' all the way back to Boston neither."

He leaned down to listen to Slim's breathing. Hearing nothing, he pulled off one glove and held his hand close to Slim's mouth and nose. Nothing.

No.

He caught his own breath and waited. The howl of the wind and the rumbling of the wheels made it hard to hear. The constant rattle and shake of the wagon made it hard to tell.

"Slim?"

_Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me_ . . .

The rattle and shake abruptly stopped, and he felt the wagon seat sway.

"Miss Daisy!" Mort shouted. "Miss Daisy!"

Suddenly the blankets were pulled back, and the wind and the sleet and the bone-burning cold hit Jess like a brick wall.

"Let's get him inside!" Mort yelled, pulling at Jess's arm.

Then the front door banged open.

"Mort! Jess!" Daisy rushed up to the wagon. "What happened? Oh, hurry! Get him in!"

"Jess!" Mike cried from beside her. "What happened to Slim? Is he dead?"

"Mike, go inside." Daisy's voice was sharp. "Build up the fire and get the blankets off Slim's bed."

"You'd better do that, Miss Daisy," Mort told her. "Jess is gonna need Mike for now."

Jess could picture Daisy's puzzled look, but she didn't argue. The door opened and closed again.

"Mike, you hitch Jess and Slim's horses to the porch rail until we can get 'em put up." Mort helped Jess to the end of the wagon bed and then to the ground, making sure he was steady before letting him go. "You're not big enough to help carry Slim," he told Mike, "but you're gonna have to help Jess till we can get Slim in the house."

"What's the matter with Jess?" Mike asked, and Jess couldn't help ducking his head a little, sure the boy was studying him right then.

"We'll talk about that later," Mort said. "Right now, we got no time to waste. All right, Jess, you take his feet. We'll ease him off the wagon and then I'll get his shoulders. You ready?"

"Ready," Jess said. "Mike? You just make sure I keep up with Mort and don't trip on anything, okay?"

"Okay, Jess," Mike said, not sounding at all certain.

"Good man. Now you hold onto my arm and keep me steady."

Mike's small hands went around his forearm, holding tight. Jess heard Mort pulling Slim down to the end of the wagon bed, and then he put Jess's hands on Slim's shins.

"Ready?"

Jess took hold of Slim's legs. "Ready, Mort. Let's get movin'."

The wagon shifted again as Mort lifted Slim up. "Guide Jess back, Mike, till I can get Slim off a here."

Mike tugged Jess's arm. "Back this way, Jess. Just a couple a steps now."

"Okay," Mort said, his voice strained now. "I'm gonna back onto the porch. Jess, you just keep followin'. Mike, don't let him stumble on the step."

Somehow they made it inside.

"Put him over here on the couch," Daisy said with a too-familiar tightness in her voice.

Jess expected to make a sharp turn to the left, to the couch under the front window, but Mort walked straight into the room.

"This way, Jess," Mike said with another tug on his arm. "Over here."

"All right, lay him down," Mort said after a few more steps. "That's it. You can let go now."

Jess felt the side of the couch against his legs and realized that Daisy must have dragged it over near the hearth. They got Slim stretched out, and then Jess moved closer to the fire. He coulda stood right in the middle of the flames, it felt so good just then.

"What happened to Slim?" Mike asked in a small voice when no one else said anything. "Is he gonna die?"

"We're going to do all we can to help him," Daisy said, and Jess could tell she was pulling open Slim's coat and what was left of his shirt and the top of his longjohns. "Why don't you fetch my medical bag and put some water on the stove to heat?"

"But, I wanna know—"

"Go on, Mike," Jess barked. "Slim can't wait."

He heard the scurry of small boots toward the kitchen.

"What happened, Jess?" Daisy asked softly. "What's wrong with you both?"

Jess shrugged, steeling himself against the concern and gentle pity in her voice. "I can't see too good right now. And besides being about froze solid, Slim took a bullet yesterday. He's still bleedin'."

"Not so much last time I looked," Mort said. "But we couldn't stop it. To be honest, I don't know how he's lasted this long."

"And you're hurt, too," Daisy murmured.

"Not so much, Miss Daisy. Nothin' that needs worryin' over."

"What about Slim?" Jess urged. "He seemed pretty bad off in the wagon."

"That wound's going to have to be cleaned out and sewed up," Daisy said. "I wish it hadn't happened so long ago."

"We tended it best we could at Zeke Sibley's," Mort said. "But he didn't have much more'n whiskey."

"Here's your bag, Aunt Daisy," Mike said when he came back into the room. "Is Slim gonna be okay? Why can't Jess see anything? Is he gonna be—"

"Come on, boy," Mort said. "We can't leave those horses standing out in this weather."

"You take good care of Traveller and Alamo," Jess said. "Hear me?"

"I will," Mike promised.

"Put on your coat, Mike," Daisy added.

"Yes, ma'am."

Daisy didn't say anything until the door opened and shut again. "I think the first thing we ought to do is get you both warmed up." She went into the kitchen and came back with something that had a familiar slosh. "You take a good drink of that now. You need it."

Jess did as he was told, feeling again the bite and burn as the whiskey spread through him. Then he held the bottle toward her. "Better get some of this into Slim, too."

He heard Daisy moving Slim around a little and then, once more, the slosh of the bottle. Slim coughed weakly, and Jess let out a deep breath. He wasn't gone. Not yet.

"I'm going to boil these instruments," Daisy said, "and then I need you to help me."

"I'm sorry, Daisy. You know I'll do whatever I can, but I'm afraid it's not gonna be much the way things are right now."

"You can keep Slim calm. Talk to him. Hold him down if need be. He's awake, a little at least, and he's not going to like what I have to do."

"All right. I'll make him behave. Mort ought to be back before long, too, just in case we need him."

"I'd rather go ahead now," Daisy said. "I don't want Mike in here while I'm doing this."

Jess clenched one fist and licked his dry lips. "All right."

He felt a gentle kiss against his hair.

"You stay with him. I'll be right back."

OOOOO

By the time Mike and Mort came back into the house, Daisy had washed Slim up and was putting on fresh bandages. He'd passed out about halfway through the whole thing. Jess was huddled as near the fire as he was able, letting Daisy's hot coffee ease his jangled nerves. Slim had been too weak to fight much, but he was still a big man, a strong man, and once in a while, keeping him still had been like wrestling a bear. Now he was just still, his breathing hard and slow.

"How is he now?" Mort asked as he came over to the hearth.

"I'm not sure yet," Daisy admitted. "I got the bleeding stopped. I just hope that was enough."

Jess listened for a minute, waiting to hear someone else. "Mike?"

For another moment, there was silence.

"Yeah, Jess?"

Mike's voice was none too steady. Slim must look awful.

"C'mere, Tiger."

The boy ran to him and ducked his head against Jess's side. He didn't make a sound, but Jess could feel the little hitches in his breathing and the trembling in his body.

Jess pulled him close. "Hey, now, it's all right. Daisy's got him all bandaged up, good as a doc, you know? Slim couldn't be in better hands, don't you think?"

Mike nodded against him.

"We wouldn't want Miss Daisy to think we didn't trust her, would we?"

Mike shook his head and sniffled.

"All right then."

"But what happened?" Mike asked, pulling back a little. "Sheriff Mort says there were bank robbers, and they killed Pete and shot Slim and hit you on the head so you can't see."

"We'll talk about that tomorrow sometime, okay, Tiger?"

"But—"

"Right now I'm about too tired to stand up," Jess said. He'd almost said he was too tired to see straight. "Slim's gotta rest now, and I think that's what we all need most, don't you?"

"Yeah, but what if he dies? What if you never—"

"Heck, now, it'll take a lot more than one little ol' bullet to get ol' Hardrock, don't you think? And me?" Jess shrugged. "Another cup of Miss Daisy's coffee and a good night's sleep oughta straighten out everything before long."

"Come on now, Mike," Daisy said. "Jess is right. It's time we all got some sleep."

"Go on, boy," Mort added. "We'll be right here in the morning."

"All right," Mike said. "Goodnight, Aunt Daisy. Sheriff Mort." He paused a second. "Goodnight, Slim. I hope you get okay."

Jess gave the boy another sturdy hug. "You sleep good."

"Goodnight, Jess."

"All right," Daisy said once Mike was gone. "Now it's time I had a look at the both of you."

"I'm all right, Miss Daisy," Mort said. "Zeke patched me up."

"Well, Mr. Sibley is a good-hearted man, sheriff, but he's no doctor. Now let me have a look."

Jess drank down his coffee and then took a little more whiskey while Daisy fussed over Mort. Then he felt a soft hand under his chin.

"Now it's your turn," Daisy said.

Jess pulled away from her. He wasn't ready for her to confirm what he already knew.

"I'm fine."

"You give me that bottle, son," Mort said, "and quit kickin'.

Jess handed over the whiskey and didn't squirm while Daisy looked him over, at least not until she started poking around at the knot at the back of his head.

"Does this hurt?"

She pressed gently, and everything seemed to swim around him. He couldn't hold back a soft gasp.

"I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No, Daisy, it's all right. What's wrong with me? Do you know?"

"You have a lot of swelling back there, I'm afraid, but there doesn't seem to be any damage to your eyes themselves."

"Why can't I see?"

"I came across it a few times in the war," Daisy said. "Some of the soldiers with head wounds like yours weren't able to see. The doctors said it was because their brains couldn't get the pictures their eyes were sending. Some of them were all right again after the swelling went down."

He swallowed hard. "How many?"

Daisy gently stroked the back of his hair. "Jess, I don't—"

"How many?" Jess demanded.

"Two."

He squeezed his useless eyes shut and laughed faintly. "Two."

"But that was in the field hospital," Daisy said. "I usually didn't see them for more than a day or two before they were moved back away from the lines. There may have been many of them who saw again just a few days later. Or weeks. Or months. I don't know."

"No," he said. "I guess not."

He flinched a little when he felt a warm, wet cloth on the wound, and once again her soft hand was in his hair, caressing, soothing.

"Whatever happens, Jess, you're going to be all right. I won't let you think anything else, do you understand?"

He nodded, leaning into her gentle touch. "Yeah. I understand."

"Mort," she said after a moment. "You look like you're about to fall asleep. Why don't you go lie down on Slim's bed. Here's a blanket."

"Thank you, Miss Daisy," Mort said. "Jess, you all right?"

"Gettin' warm at last, Mort. You and Mike see to the horses?"

"They're doin' fine. I gave 'em some extra oats and Mike and I rubbed 'em down good."

"Thanks."

Jess felt Mort's steadying hand on his shoulder. "You listen to Miss Daisy, boy. And get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Mort."

Jess stayed where he was, listening to Daisy tending to Slim. He could hear when she gave Slim another sip of whiskey and thought his cough this time sounded a little stronger.

"How is he now, Daisy?"

"Holding on, dear. I can't tell much more than that." She came over to him again and cupped his cheek in her hand. "Mort was right. You should get some sleep. Why don't I help you to your bed? I'll call you if anything happens."

Jess pulled away from her. "No. I'll stay here."

"I'm going to watch over Slim, dear. You don't have to worry."

"Just the same."

She sighed. "I'll make you a bed on the floor. I suppose you're not ready to leave the fire yet anyway."

She bustled around for another minute or two and then came back to him. "All right. Now you can get some rest."

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "Thank you, Daisy."

"It's just a few blankets spread out. You'd be more comfortable in your bed."

"I mean thank you for bein' here. For always lookin' after us." He squeezed her hand a little more and felt his throat tighten. "For lovin' us."

"Oh, Jess," she whispered, and she pulled him into her arms. "I do love you, all three of you, like you're my own."

Dadgum, if she wasn't tryin' to make him bawl like a baby. "I don't know why," he said, his eyes stinging as he gave her the cheekiest grin he could muster up, "but I sure am gettin' to like it."

She laughed and kissed his forehead and then guided him to the pallet she had made for him. "Goodnight, dear. Rest well."

He thought as he lay down that would never be able to sleep, and then he woke realizing from the way the fire had burned low, that at least two or three hours must have passed. He wondered if he ought to get up and check on Slim, but then he was aware of Daisy's low whispered prayer in the night, for him and for Slim, too. And, in the quiet of his heart, Jess added his own amen.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am **_**so**_** sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. Real life has been more than crazy, and I've been working late into the night every night for the past couple of weeks, Sundays and all, trying to catch up on my work. But I couldn't leave Jess and Slim in the lurch, so here's a new chapter. I'd love to know what you think of it. Thanks for bearing with me. Please rest assured that I will never abandon a story. I mean, unless I die or something. Then I can't help it. **


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Jess's sleep was deep and dreamless, his body's desperate need for rest finally overcoming the unceasing turmoil of his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was the crackle of the fire and Daisy's sweet voice as she soothed Slim to sleep and the comfort of one last thought.

_Home. We're home._

It was still dark when he woke, but he was snug and comfortable even with that warm weight on his chest. He lifted his head just slightly to try to figure out what it was, and a deep throbbing pain in the back of his head brought everything back to him. Of course it was still dark. It was always dark. It was always going to be dark. He tried to push the word away, but it was always there.

Blind.

He was blind. No matter what Daisy said, there was no guarantee he would ever see again. Out of the many she'd seen who had been injured the same way he had been, she knew of only two who had recovered. Two.

He drew in an unsteady breath and started to turn over in his blankets, but then that weight on his chest shifted. He put his hands out and found a warm little bundle of fur.

"Jeremiah," he whispered, managing a smile. "You always know when somebody needs you, don't you?"

The marmalade cat made a contented little sound, half purr and half meow, in answer.

"Jess?" Daisy said low.

He turned toward her voice. "What time is it? How's Slim?"

"It's still a few hours till dawn," she whispered, coming to his side. "You stay right where you are. Everything's all right."

"Slim?"

"He's resting quietly." She cupped Jess's cheek in her soft hand. "Mort and Mike are still asleep."

"You ought to sleep, too. You've had a long night."

"Oh, I've napped now and again." Daisy's soft voice was somehow as cheerful as if she had just risen from a restful night's sleep. "Now you and Jeremiah go back to sleep. I'll make sure and let you both know when it's time for breakfast."

He grabbed her hand when she started to pull away, not ready to lose the motherly touch. "Tell me. Is Slim gonna make it?"

"I've been praying for him, Jess," Daisy said quietly. "It's the best I know to do for him now. But I don't think he's in any pain, and I don't think he's unconscious, just asleep. If that's the case, that's the best thing for him right now. His fever is down some, and that's promising." She gave his cheek a pat and then slipped her hand out of his. "Go back to sleep, dear. Things will be better in the morning."

He felt the light touch of her lips on his forehead and then heard her go back to Slim and sit down. Jess started to roll over to his side and another purring mew reminded him he wasn't alone.

"Well, what are you doing out in the cold anyways?"

He lifted up the top blankets and tucked the cat underneath, curling up on his side around him. Jeremiah's soft purr grew to a lulling rumble, and Jess fell back asleep.

OOOOO

The next time Jess woke, it was to the smell of coffee, ham and biscuits.

"Breakfast, Jeremiah."

His head was aching and heavy, but he was determined to get up anyway, so he felt through the blankets, trying to make sure he didn't roll over on the cat.

"Turncoat," he muttered when he realized Jeremiah was already gone. "Probably already had yours and gone back to sleep by the fire."

"You awake now, Jess?"

That was Mort's voice. Jess heard the promising rattle of a coffee cup on a china saucer and sat up as the sound of the sheriff's boots came closer.

"Here, boy." Mort put Jess's hands around the hot cup, making sure he had hold of the saucer, too. "You drink that and wake up."

"Thanks, Mort. How's Slim?"

"Better, Miss Daisy says. He woke up a couple of hours ago and took a little whiskey and a little broth and then went back to sleep. I'm about to head out to see if I can get Doc Hanson over here. Then I gotta see to things up in the hills. It seems sort of unimportant by now, but I ought to get that bank money back to Mr. Simpson, too."

Jess nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, all hundred dollars of it, more or less."

"It's gotta be seen to anyway, Jess. You know that."

"Yeah."

Simpson would have to have his money back. The Mitchells would have to be brought down to Mr. Birdsong's until it was warm enough to dig them proper graves. So would Trent and Betts. The idea of those two murderers being put next to the family they'd killed twisted a knot into Jess's insides, but there was no helping it now. He'd leave the dead for God to judge. The Lord took a longer and clearer view of things than somebody like Jess could manage.

"You'll need some help, Mort. I—"

"Don't even ask, boy. You need to stay here and heal up."

"I told you about Timmo, Mort. Trent's son."

"Yeah. What about him?"

"He's out there still. He was pretty tore up about the whole thing though, from what I can tell. I'd guess he's hightailed it for Canada by now, but you can't be too sure. Just be on the lookout for him, okay? Just in case."

"All right. I'll go over to Dan Hendricks' and see if he and Trey'll go with me and bring their wagon to use for the haulin' back to town. They musta headed back home sometime yesterday when it got bad out. I'll drive Sibley's wagon over there, and then we can all go by his place so I can give him back his wagon and team and get my horse out of his barn."

"Would you do me a favor then?"

Jess could picture the sheriff scowling at him.

"What?"

"Could you bring Boy back down with you?" Jess asked.

"That mare you had when I found you?"

"Yeah, could you? And could you bring Betts and Trent's horses, too? They didn't look like they'd been used any too easy when I saw 'em. I figure we could get 'em fat and sleek here."

Mort patted his shoulder. "All right, son. I'll bring 'em all. You'll have to answer to Slim for their winter feed."

"I'll do that."

"For now, you let me get you over to the table. Miss Daisy's in the kitchen frying you up some ham and eggs to go with your coffee. And if you can't smell those biscuits, there really is something wrong with you."

Jess snorted and struggled to his feet. "You just point me to the table. I'll handle the rest."

Mort took his arm and helped him to a chair. Daisy came in a few seconds later, and Jess could have sworn he could still hear the sizzle in the ham.

"Good morning, dear," Daisy said, setting a plate down in front of him. "I hope you're good and hungry."

"Now, Miss Daisy, when'd you ever know me not to be?"

"Hmmm . . . you'd better let me think awhile. I'll let you know if I remember a time."

Mort chuckled. "All right, Jess, I'm headed out. The sun's managed to come out again, but I don't know how long it'll last. I need to get things taken care of."

"What about that bandage of yours?" Daisy asked. "I ought to change it before you go."

"It's all right, ma'am. I had a look when I shaved this mornin'. I really don't even need it."

"If you say so," Daisy said, though she didn't sound at all convinced.

"Thank you for breakfast, Miss Daisy," Mort said, probably by way of a diversion. "I don't think I've ever had a better."

"You're always welcome, sheriff," Daisy told him, a smile again in her voice. "You come back anytime."

"Well, I _do_ have to come back later with those horses Jess was asking about, if the weather doesn't get me stuck at Sibley's . . . "

"We're having roast chicken and potatoes and black-eyed peas with some of this ham cooked in it. We'll be expecting you. And you tell Mr. Sibley he's welcome, too."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll do that. Jess, I'll be back."

"Yeah, Mort," Jess said. "Thanks for seein' to those horses."

"It's no trouble, boy. Now you mind Miss Daisy."

"A'course I will. Don't I always? Eventually?"

"Eventually," Mort said archly. "We all do eventually."

Daisy huffed. "You just go on, Mort Cory."

Jess snickered.

"And you eat your breakfast, young man, or I'll give it to the cat."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll see you both later on," Mort said, and Jess heard him slip into his heavy coat. "You look after Slim."

There was a blast of cold air as the front door opened and shut, and Mort was gone.

Jess stuck his fork in the slice of ham on his plate and then turned his head toward Daisy's retreating footsteps. "Daisy, you got anymore coffee? I'd sure admire to have some."

"Coming," she called back.

"Thanks."

Still holding down the ham with his fork, Jess picked up his knife. Before he could do anything more, he felt the ham pull slowly away from him. He held on harder and waved his free hand over his plate.

"Go on! Scat!"

There was a clatter through whatever dishes were on the table and then a light thump on the wood floor.

"Dadgumit, Jeremiah!" Jess yelled. "I don't mind sharin', but you could ask!"

"Oh, Jess, I'm sorry," Daisy said, hurrying to the table again. "I thought he was asleep."

"Well, you can never tell with a ham thief. They're mostly incorjuble, like the papers say, but I'll be a little more suspicious from now on." Jess curled his left arm around his plate, just in case Jeremiah got anymore ideas, and started eating. "Where's Mike?" he asked around a large mouthful of buttered biscuit.

"He had his breakfast first thing and then went right out to see to the animals. He said to tell you and Slim not to worry about Traveller and Alamo, that he'd see to them every day until you were both well."

Jess ducked his head a little, a mixture of pain and pride bringing a little tightness to his throat. "That's good, Daisy. Is he, uh . . . is he doin' all right this mornin'? I mean, last night—"

"You're both still here, Jess," Daisy said, putting her hand on his. "I know he didn't want to go to sleep last night because he was afraid you wouldn't be when he woke up, especially Slim."

"It's gotta be rough on him, poor kid."

Her hand tightened on his. "We've got to be strong for him through this. Whatever happens, Jess, we've got to."

"I know," he said, and he swallowed hard.

Whatever happened, it didn't matter. Mike was already scared enough. He'd already been through too much. He didn't need to see somebody he counted on fall apart.

He lifted his chin and managed a tight smile.

She slipped her arm around his shoulders and pressed her cheek to his. "I think you're the bravest man I know."

He managed to laugh because anything else would have been too painful.

OOOOO

Later in the day, after he'd had more coffee, Jess let Daisy talk him into letting her shave him and help him clean up. After all, she had already done the same for Slim, and she had plenty of experience from her war work. Afterward, once she got him to admit he felt better after he'd been tidied up, she brought him a hot poultice with tea in it for the back of his head.

"It should help with the swelling, dear," she told him gently. "And the more we can get the swelling down, the better we'll be able to tell if that's causing your problem. Now, you hold that on there as long as it's hot. Sit down here by Slim and let me know if he stirs. I'm going to make him some more broth and some more tea for when he wakes up and get some things made for supper."

"Supper? What time is it anyway?"

"Not everything has to be made right before it's served," she said cryptically. "Now you do as I told you and keep that poultice on. And don't fidget so much."

He huffed and sat still. Soon he heard her working away in the kitchen, and he started wondering where Mike was. It was good of him to volunteer to look after the animals, but that was a big job for a little boy. Jess wasn't about to let him do everything on his own. He was on the verge of trying to sneak out to the barn when he heard a low mumble beside him.

"Slim?"

Slim exhaled heavily. "Mmm."

"You're all right, Slim."

"Jess? Where's Jess? He's gotta get to Mitchell's. Gotta help 'im. He can't see."

Jess grabbed his arm, keeping him flat on the couch. "I'm right here, Slim. Right here. We're home. Everything's fine. Daisy's got you all patched up, and Mort's sendin' the doctor out. You're gonna be all right, you hear me? Slim?"

Slim lay still for a moment, and then he struggled again. "Gotta get the horses. They're gone. Those men, they took 'em. They took Alamo and Traveller."

Jess had to put down the poultice and hold down both of Slim's shoulders now. "Easy now, Hardrock, or you're gonna have Daisy in here fussin' over you again. You're all right. The horses are all right. They're in the barn right now, eatin' oats and gettin' fat and ornery. Those outlaws are dead. You don't have to fret over 'em anymore. Everything's okay."

Slim lay still a minute more, breathing hard and trying to think clear. "Jess?"

"Right here, pard."

Slim reached up and caught a handful of Jess's shirt. "Are you all right? I thought you were hurt. I thought . . . "

_Blind, Slim. Say it. I'm blind._

Slim clumsily patted his shoulder. "I'm glad we're home again. I'm glad Daisy's lookin' after us."

"Yeah."

"Those outlaws are dead?" Slim asked, his voice a little steadier.

"Yeah. Mort and I were bringing you down to Sibley's, and they tried to stop us. Mort and I had to kill 'em."

"I guess we oughta get word up to Jim Mitchell about 'em. He'll be glad to know he and Kitty and Sally don't have to worry anymore."

"It's all right, Slim," Jess said, not quite able to keep the grimness from his voice. "They won't worry anymore."

Jess heard the thump of small boots on the porch and then the front door opened and closed, bringing in another blast of cold air.

"Careful, Mike. We don't want Slim to get a chill."

"Slim!" The little boots ran over to the couch. "Hi, Slim. How are you? Are you better now?"

Slim laughed weakly. "I guess I'm doin' better, Mike. How about you?"

"I was worried about you, but I knew Aunt Daisy would take care of you. And I know she'll make Jess better, too."

Jess bit his lip, not wanting to dash the boy's hopes but not wanting to give him false hopes either.

"I brought you somethin', Jess."

"Oh, yeah?"

Mike grabbed his hand and put it around a long, sturdy stick.

"What's this?"

"I thought you could use it to help you get around. I'll make you a better one when I can, but I thought this would help for now."

Jess found the boy's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Thanks, Tiger. That'll help a lot."

"And I can see for you, too. I mean, just until you're better, but I can help you. Besides, you can tell me how to do a lot of stuff so I can do it for you. I'm gettin' pretty big now, and I can learn just about anything. Aunt Daisy says so."

"Then I reckon it must be so," Jess said, glad his voice came out strong and hearty. "That makes me feel a lot better now. Thanks."

"And, Slim," Mike said, "I can help with your chores, too. You just tell me."

"Thanks, Mike," Slim said. "With somebody like you helpin' out, I bet we'll make it just fine."

Whatever else he might have said was interrupted by sound of horses in the yard.

"Who's that?" Jess asked, suddenly wishing his gun was still strapped around his hips.

"It's Sheriff Mort," Mike said, hurrying to the window. "And he's got a bunch of horses with him."

"Go out and help him get 'em bedded down, will you, Tiger? And tell him Daisy's got coffee on, so's he'll hurry."

"Okay, Jess."

Mike ran to the door, and Daisy's voice came from the kitchen.

"Put on your coat, Mike."

"I still got it on, Aunt Daisy, from when I came in."

"Very well then. Don't keep the sheriff waiting."

"I'll be back, Jess. I'm glad you're awake, Slim."

The door opened and slammed closed.

"Brr," Daisy said as she came into the front room, and Jess heard her putting more wood on the fire. Then she came over to Slim. "Slim, dear. You're looking better. Would you drink some tea? Just to warm you up?"

"Thanks, Daisy," Slim said a little drowsily, even though Jess thought he might have had some other warming drink in mind. "Do you think I might get something to eat, too?"

"I've got some broth warming on the stove for you. I'll get it right away."

By the time she got Slim to eat all of the broth he could manage at one time and he had fallen asleep again, Mike came back inside with Mort in tow.

"I got those horses for you, Jess. They're bedded down for the night. Where's Doc Hanson? Hasn't he been here yet?"

"Not yet," Jess said. "Did he say he was coming right out?"

"No. The MacArthur twins have the grippe, and he had to see to them first, but I don't know why he'd take so long about it. How's Slim?"

"Better, I think."

"He was awake," Mike said triumphantly.

"And he ate a little broth," Daisy added, equally though more serenely triumphant.

"Well, that's good to know," Mort said. "Uh, Miss Daisy, do you think you and Mike could excuse us for just a moment? I'd sure like to have a word with Jess. Official business, you know."

"Oh," Daisy said. "Uh, of course. Mike, you come with me. Remember that little surprise I told you about? You can help me with it now."

"Aw, Aunt Daisy—"

"Now you don't want to interfere with official sheriff's business, do you?"

"No, ma'am, I don't wanna interfere. I just wanna listen in."

"Well, right now you can come help me. Come along."

Mort waited until they were busy in the kitchen. Then he moved a little closer to Jess.

"Dan and Trey and I went up to get the Mitchells and then we went over to get Betts and Trent."

"Yeah?"

"Betts was there," Mort said. "But Trent was gone."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, here's a nice long chapter to get me back on schedule. I hope you enjoy it. And to all of you, Merry Christmas and a happy, prosperous and blessed New Year!**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Gone?"

Jess gripped the arms of the rocker he was sitting in. Trent was gone.

"Yeah," Mort said, and Jess heard the scrape of a chair as he pulled it up and sat down. "Only thing I can figure is that kid you told me about, that Timmo, musta come and got his pa's body to bury. I can see he wouldn't care to leave it for the animals to tear up."

" _. . . a proper sendoff, not left out in the open for coyotes to find."_

Jess's stomach tightened at the memory of the nightmare he'd had coming down out of the hills, of Timmo holding that razor to his throat and reminding him of how his failures had cost so many lives. He made his voice hard, emotionless.

"Then Timmo cut himself loose and got away before you got to the Mitchell place."

"He was gone," Mort said. "What happened there, Jess? I know you told me about them killin' Jim Mitchell and his wife and daughter. You didn't tell me there was blood everywhere."

Jess hadn't pictured that, though why he would have imagined anything else after three people had been mercilessly shot to death, he didn't know. It had been easier to think of the three of them just cold and still.

"That's all I know. I didn't do more'n strap Timmo to a chair with his belt and then give him that razor so he could cut hisself loose pretty quick."

"Yeah," Mort said. "I saw a chair turned over. I just wasn't expecting the blood. I guess I ought to have. I'll have to wire the towns around here to be lookin' out for him."

"Yeah." Jess exhaled. "He was pretty tore up over the whole thing, especially killin' Sally Mitchell. Whatever Trent pulled him into, I could tell he warn't cut out for that."

"You know I have to go after him, Jess. He helped kill those people and who knows who else."

"I don't think there was anybody else," Jess said. "The way it sounded to me, he come out to be with his Pa and got in over his head."

"He's the one who blinded you," Mort reminded him.

"Yeah, but he didn't go to do it. If you'd heard how busted up he was over Sally—"

"He's got to answer for it all the same."

Jess didn't say anything for a long moment, then he pushed back slightly and started the chair slowly rocking. Timmo. Pete. Even Sally. They were all young, all of them caught up in something that didn't end up how they meant it to. If Pete hadn't tried to be a hero— If Sally hadn't fought back— If Timmo hadn't thought being an outlaw was some kind of lark—

If Jess hadn't been too slow that day in the bank where it all started—

"I guess it's not much of a matter of who did it or why anymore," he said finally, thinking this was like having that razor slice into him and not feeling it right away because it was so deep and so sharp and then having the pain come in a sudden rush. "It's done."

He didn't say how bewildered he was. How lost. How terrified. He was blind. Helpless. Useless. Oh, God—

"Jess?"

Mort's steadying hand was on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I know," Jess said, swallowing down the fear and twisting his mouth into a wry grin. "We'll get through it."

"I mean it, boy." Mort had both hands on his shoulders now, briefly kneading the taut muscles and then releasing them with a sturdy pat. "Me and Miss Daisy and even little Mike, we'll be right alongside you whatever happens. And you know Slim will."

"Yeah."

Jess didn't dare say more. He was already pulled tighter than a fiddle string. If he let himself think too much on how they'd all took him in, how they'd all treated him like he mattered, how they'd all made him feel like he'd at last found home, well—

He blinked hard. "I gotta figure out what I'm gonna do now, Mort. Everything I know how to do, shoot, ride, rope, string fence, herd cattle, even change a team, I need to see to do."

"Now just rest easy, Jess." Mort's hand was on his shoulder again. "You don't have to think about that right away. For now, you're home and safe. Take a minute to catch your breath. Let Miss Daisy feed you up and spoil you a little." He chuckled softly. "You know she wants to."

"Yeah," Jess said, forcing a smile. "Sure."

"Now, Jess, it's only been two days."

"Yeah, two days. And how long you think Mike's gonna be able to look after the stock and do all the other chores around the place with me like this and Slim laid up? What about Daisy? She already does too much, more'n we have any right to ask of her. Slim can't pay her enough as it is."

"Jess Harper," Daisy said, bringing into the room with her more of the tantalizing smell of apples and cinnamon that had come from the oven for the past little while, "if you think money is what keeps me on this ranch, you're not as smart as I've always thought you were."

"Guess I've had you fooled all this time," he muttered.

"Nothing of the kind." She leaned down to press her cheek to his, and whispered, "You don't fool me one little bit, honey."

He leaned into her. Of course she knew. She always knew.

"Daisy—" He caught a steadying breath at the sound of a horse and buggy pulling up at the house and sat up straight. "Who is it?"

"Dr. Hanson at last," Mort said, and he opened the door. "We'd about given you up!"

"Mrs. Jeffries' baby came three weeks early," the doctor explained with a great deal of rustling of his coat and muffler and gloves. "But I knew I could trust Mrs. Cooper to see to things here."

"Come in, doctor," Daisy said. "I'll get you some coffee to warm you up while you have a look at Slim."

"I'll see to your horse," Mort said, and he went outside.

"Aunt Daisy?" Mike called from the kitchen. "Can I stop peeling potatoes?

"Not yet, dear. I'll be in there in a minute." Daisy lowered her voice. "How is he?"

"Let me have a look here," Dr. Hanson said.

Jess could hear him rummaging in his bag and pulling back the blankets that covered Slim there by the fire. He wished he could see the doctor's face. That always told him more than anything else how serious something like this was. Now he could only listen and wait.

At last the doctor gave a final-sounding sigh.

"How is he?" Daisy asked again.

"Still in a bad way, Mrs. Cooper," Dr. Hanson said. "You've done an excellent job with him, as well as I could have done myself, but I'm concerned about the infection in the wound."

"His fever is down," Daisy told him.

"Very much?"

"No," Daisy admitted. "But he has been conscious off and on. I've been giving him chicken broth and tea. And whiskey when he'll take it."

"Well, I don't know what you need me for, ma'am. You're doing all I could for him. The rest is up to him and the good Lord. Keep him up near the fire and keep it going. At this point, a chill might just carry him off."

"I'll see to it," Daisy said.

"Now, Jess," the doctor said, "let's have a look at you."

"All right," Jess said, not quite able to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Dr. Hanson pressed the back of his head, sending a spike of pain through Jess's skull. Then he pressed Jess's temples and forehead, asking him the whole time what hurt and how much it hurt and if any of it made any difference in what he could see. None of it did.

Jess felt the warmth of the lamp when the doctor brought it close to his face. The fumes from the kerosine and the burning lamp wick stung his eyes, but he saw no light.

"Nothing?" the doctor pressed.

Jess could only shake his head.

"Jess, dear," Daisy murmured, slipping her arm around him.

He had to force himself not to shrug away from her. He knew she meant well. He knew she only wanted to comfort him, but he couldn't take her pity, not just now. Not without making a sobbing fool of himself.

"I have read about cases like yours, Jess," Dr. Hanson said, his voice very gentle as he took hold of Jess's arm. "I don't want you to give up hope. In some of those cases, especially if not much time has passed since the injury, the patient has gotten his sight back, at least partially. It's not something I've come across myself, of course, but it has been documented. It's very early yet, and there's so much we don't know."

He'd been right when he'd said Daisy had already done everything he would have done. She'd already told Jess what to expect.

"I guess I'd best learn how to get along the way I am then," Jess said, lifting his chin. "Maybe there's something I could learn to do in town."

"There's plenty you can do right here, Jess," Daisy said.

"Sure. Wash dishes and clothes and shell peas. Feed the chickens. And you can help Slim round up cattle and bust broncs. And, hey, I bet you'll enjoy doin' the branding."

"Jess," she said, more worry than reproof in her voice.

"No, Daisy, we ought to say it straight out. I can't do ranch work anymore. I gotta find me somethin' else to do. Somewheres I can earn my way."

"There are schools," Dr. Hanson began. "Some good ones in California and back east—"

"No!" Mike ran from the kitchen and straight into Jess's arms. "You can't go away, Jess! You can't!"

Jess pulled him close. "Tiger—"

"Of course he can't," Daisy said firmly.

"Hear me out," the doctor said. "There are schools, very good schools, you could go to. You'd be amazed at what they can do."

"Schools to learn me what?" Jess asked, unable to keep a touch of acid out of his voice. "To string beads or braid leather? Maybe after a few years I could learn to mend harness."

Mike clung to him, hiding his face against Jess's chest.

"You think about it," Dr. Hanson said. "They can help you learn to get along on your own."

Jess nodded. "Yeah. I don't want people feelin' like they have to look after me the rest of my life."

The doctor patted his shoulder. "You think about it, Jess. It's nothing you need to decide right now, but you let me know if you want to hear more about it. Mrs. Cooper, you keep doing what you've been doing for both of them. I'll be back in a day or two to see how things are going."

Jess heard the rustle of Daisy's skirts as she and the doctor went to the door and then the sound of the doctor bundling up again. Then with a last goodbye and another blast of winter wind, the doctor was gone.

"Did you finish the potatoes, Mike?" Daisy asked, her voice especially cheerful.

"Not yet," Mike said with a sigh.

"It's all right," Daisy told him. "I'll see to them and to our special surprise. You stay with Jess for now. Jess, I'll be making some fresh coffee for you and for Mort when he comes back in."

"Thanks, Daisy," Jess said.

When she was gone, Mike crawled up into Jess's lap and nestled against him. "I don't want you to go, Jess." There was more than a hint of a sniffle in his voice.

"I don't want to go," Jess admitted. "But I can't let you and Daisy do all the work while I just sit around doin' nothin'. And I can't let Slim pay me for no work. It ain't fair."

"But he would, Jess. I know he would."

"I know," Jess said. "But it ain't fair."

Mike tucked his head under Jess's chin and was quiet for a minute.

"When the Indians got my ma and pa," he said finally, his voice not much more than a whisper, "I was too little to protect 'em."

Jess stroked his hair, trying to comfort him as best he could,

Mike huddled closer and twisted his fingers into Jess's shirt. "I'm bigger now. And I won't let anything happen to you or Slim or Aunt Daisy. Not ever."

"I know you won't, Tiger. I know me and Slim can count on you, no matter what happens, but mostly you gotta watch out for Miss Daisy. She's gonna need your help till Slim is better and when I'm—"

"Please don't go, Jess." Mike sobbed. "Please."

"Shh." Jess wrapped both arms around him. "It ain't for a while yet, whatever happens. And pretty soon Slim'll be all right, and he'll look after you just fine. You'll be all right. I promise."

Mike nodded against his neck and then hiccupped.

"Come on, Tiger," Jess coaxed. "You don't want to upset Miss Daisy, do you? You know how easy ladies cry, and then there's no stoppin' 'em."

That made Mike giggle and hiccup again, and then Jess heard Mort's boots on the porch.

"You'd better go let the sheriff in, Tiger, before he freezes solid out there."

"I'm comin', Sheriff Mort," Mike shouted, scrambling out of Jess's lap, and he ran to the door just as Mort pushed it open.

"I think it's turnin' colder," Mort said, huffing and puffing as he came to the fire to get warm. "I just had the doc's horse unharnessed and put up when he came back out for it. Shoulda known he wouldn't stay long. What'd he say?"

Jess's jaw tightened. "Just that Daisy ought to keep on doin' what she has been. Not much more he could tell. Nothin' more he could do."

Mort was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Jess. I was hopin' he'd know of something that'd help you."

Jess shrugged.

"Would you like some coffee, sheriff?" Daisy said, coming into the room. "Supper will be ready before long."

"Thank you, Miss Daisy, I'll take the coffee, but I can't stay to supper. I've gotta get back to town before dark. And I need to go by the Dixson place and ask Len and Pete to come help out here when they can."

"They got their own place to worry over," Jess snapped. "They can't be runnin' ours, too."

"And they wouldn't have that place of theirs if it weren't for you and Slim," Mort said patiently. "You know they're happy to help."

Jess huffed but didn't argue.

"You can at least have some of the surprise Mike and I made," Daisy said.

"_Before_ supper?" Mike asked.

"Just this once," Daisy told him. "And I've never noticed apple pie spoiled anyone's appetite around here."

Jess somehow managed to smile.

OOOOO

True to his word, Mort had his pie and coffee and headed back to town. Jess and Mike and Daisy ate dinner and then started to settle in for the night.

"I'll go take care of the horses," Mike said, "and I'll bring in more wood."

Jess patted his shoulder. "Thanks, Tiger. You hurry up. I don't want you turnin' into an icicle out there."

"I'll hurry fast!"

Mike put on his coat and scampered out the door, and Daisy came over to check on Slim.

"How is he?" Jess asked.

Daisy sighed. "About the same."

"I want you to sleep tonight," Jess told her, taking hold of her hand. "In your bed."

"I'd better not, dear. Slim might need something in the night."

"I'll sit up with him. I don't expect I'll be sleepin' much anyway. And if he needs somethin' I can't handle, I'll come get you."

"All right." She brushed the hair off his forehead with her free hand and then caressed his face. "I'd do anything to make you well again, Jess. I truly would."

"I know, Daisy." He brought her hand to his lips and then leaned his cheek against it. "That's the worst part of this. I can't look after you and Mike and even Slim anymore. I can't provide for you or protect you. I don't have any reason to even be around now."

"That's not true," she told him. "It's not true. You've saved all of us at one time or another, more than once. It's our time to help you now. Just for a while. Just until you get through this."

"You heard the doctor, Daisy. You know it yourself. I might never get through this."

"Yes, you will," Daisy said firmly. "I don't know if you'll see again. I pray God you will, but if you don't, you'll still get through this. You'll get through this because you always do. Even if it hurts, even if you don't think there's a way out, you never quit until you make a way."

She stroked back his hair again, and he knew she was looking deeply into his eyes with that sweet faith and trust she somehow always had in him and with her tender love.

"Daisy," he murmured, turning his face away.

"I know you, Jess Harper. You haven't changed just because you're hurt. I know you're afraid and unsure about what's going to happen now. Who wouldn't be? But I know you'll face it, and I know you'll make it through. And I know we'll all do everything we can to help you, because we couldn't do without you. This place wouldn't be home without you." Her voice broke. "Our family wouldn't be complete without you."

She hugged him close and he ducked his head against her shoulder, squeezing his eyes tight shut.

"Dadgum, Daisy," he said, trying to laugh as he pulled away. "You'd better not let Slim hear you sayin' all that. He'd be raggin' me over it all the way till _next_ Christmas."

She sniffed and then laughed softly. "I won't tell him, but I'm sure he knows. And he'd tell you the same thing."

Now Jess laughed in earnest.

"Well," Daisy said, "maybe not in so many words. And you know Mike feels the same way."

"Shouldn't Mike be gettin' back inside by now?" Jess asked. "It couldn't have taken him this long to feed the horses and bring in some wood. Maybe I'd better go help him."

"Now, you'll do no such thing. I'll bring you some more coffee, and then I'll go get him. You stay here and look after Slim."

He huffed. "Yes, ma'am."

He spent several minutes drinking the coffee she brought him, turning over her words in his mind, trying to think what was best for her and for Mike and Slim. He'd given this place, this family, everything he had to give. He couldn't imagine leaving. But he'd never been one to take charity either. Helpless as he was now, what could he possibly do that would be of any use to any of them?

He'd have to think. There'd be time for that, at least a little time. Now he just needed to put it all aside. There'd be time enough to think on it tomorrow or the next day. When Slim was better, they could talk it over, maybe with Mort, too. He didn't have to decide anything right this minute.

He sat listening to the crackle of the fire and the tick of the clock. He listened to Slim's deep, even breathing and felt his too-warm forehead. Daisy and Mike ought to have come back by now. Maybe Mike had hurt himself in the barn. Maybe one of the horses had stepped on him, or maybe he'd fallen from the hayloft or cut himself somehow.

Jess felt around and found the long walkingstick Mike had brought him. He found his coat and hat, too, and put on his gloves. Then he found the door and stepped out into the cold. Little sprinkles of snow landed on his face and he ducked his head against the moaning wind.

As familiar as he was with the yard, he still managed to walk into the corral fence instead of the barn door he'd aimed for. Still, it was nothing to feel his way along the fence until he reached the barn and stepped into the relative warmth inside.

"Mike?" he called. "Daisy?"

There was only silence.

"Daisy, you there?" He turned at the rustle of straw. "Mike?"

There was a sudden rush of heavy footsteps and someone seized him from behind and clasped a suffocating hand over his mouth.

"Hello, Harper."

He was supposed to be dead. Trent was supposed to be dead.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, Jess wasn't expecting **_**him**_**! I'd love to know what you think now. Happy New Year!**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Pulse and thoughts racing, Jess tightened his hand on the walking stick he still held. Trent. Trent wasn't dead.

The hand over his mouth was unnaturally warm and slick with fever sweat. Maybe Jess's bullet hadn't killed Trent, but it had definitely hit him. Still, the man had managed to get himself down out of the hills, down to the ranch, down to do the killing he was set on, but why?

The arm around Jess's chest squeezed harder, making his ribs ache, making it even harder to breathe. Jess struggled to turn his head, and with a grim laugh, Trent slid his hand from Jess's mouth to his throat.

"I thought you were dead," Jess gasped.

"Yeah," Trent said, his voice none too steady. "You meant me to be. Guess you couldn't see to make sure."

"The sheriff said—"

"He weren't in much of a way to tell. Not after Betts creased him in the head like that. He didn't do more'n shove me over with his boot anyhow. I can play 'possum with the best of 'em." Trent wheezed. "Especially bleedin' like I was."

_Like you are._

Jess could feel the sticky warmth soaking into the back of his shirt. Whether that was from Trent's shoulder or upper arm or chest, it was hard to say. Wherever it was, it wasn't doing him any good.

Jess tried to squirm away, and Trent immediately sank his fingers into Jess's windpipe.

"Where you goin', boy? I still got business with you."

"What'd you do with the lady and the boy?" Jess panted.

Trent snorted. "I guess you can't see 'em over there against that post. They ain't goin' no place. Not yet anyhow."

"What do you want?" Jess demanded, his breath coming harder as the blood began to boil in his veins. "You wanna kill me? Go on then. They got nothin' to do with it."

"You might not think so," Trent said, "and, tell truth, I didn't think so either. I come here to kill you. For Timmo. And then that boy come out here all alone. All alone like Timmo was, and I thought of somethin' better."

Somethin' better?

"Look, mister," Jess growled, "If you want somebody to blame for Timmo, you'd better start lookin' in the mirror. You're his pa. What'd you have to pull him down into your kinda life for? I could tell he didn't want to kill those people."

Trent's hold on Jess's throat tightened, nearly cutting of his breath entirely. "That was Betts doin'. We weren't to have killin'. Not at the bank. Not after. It just happened that way."

Jess sucked in a loud breath, and Trent eased up just a little.

"Timmo shouldn't a been in it," he said. "Those people at the cabin woulda been all right if they'd a kept still and did like they was told. Timmo woulda been fine if I hadn't left him with you. You had no right to do him that way."

"I didn't do nothin' but leave Timmo tied up in that cabin. If you're chapped because he took off to Canada before he could be hanged for what you dragged him into, that ain't my look out. There's some say I'd oughta killed him right there, but I figured he was beat up enough already about what happened."

"Don't lie, boy!" Quick as the crack of lightning, Trent spun Jess around and knocked him to his knees with a ringing slap across the face. "Don't lie!

Trent stood panting over him, suddenly spent.

"You know what you did," he hissed.

Jess heard him fumbling for something, and then he grabbed Jess's hand and forced it around a piece of cold metal.

"Remember this, boy? Do you? I was gonna use this on you, like you did on Timmo."

It was Jim Mitchell's razor.

"What—"

"But now," Trent said, "I think that's easier than you deserve. I been watchin' you. Did you know that? I been out here, gettin' my strength, waiting for my time. I seen that kid comin' in and out, lookin' after your horses, talkin' to 'em about you and that pal of yours. And I figured, bein' blind now, maybe more than anything you'd rather die. I'd a rather died than find my son the way you left him. I guess killin' you'd be kind of a mercy, wouldn't it? But that boy, on the other hand, you wouldn't like it much if I was to take a razor to him, would you?"

"No," Jess breathed, shaking his head, trying to pull his hand away. "No. He's just a kid. A little boy. You can't—"

"My son was just a kid!" Trent dragged Jess to his feet and snapped open the razor, holding it to Jess's throat. "He was seventeen, and you strapped him to a chair and cut him open so he'd bleed out where he sat."

"No." _Oh, dear God, no. _"I tied him in that chair so I could get away. I gave him that razor so he could get himself free and get away from you. He was alive when I left him."

"I told you not to lie," Trent growled.

"He didn't want to hang. He didn't want to spend his life in prison. He couldn't live with what he'd done."

"Shut up." Trent pressed harder, and the blade made a stinging cut against Jess's throat. "Just shut up. Timmo would never—"

"He couldn't live with what you made him into."

"Just shut up! It's a lie! You're lying!"

Trent's breath was coming hard now, and the hand that held the razor was shaking. He was faltering, Jess was sure. Blood loss and infection were taking their toll, but it wouldn't take much strength to use that razor right where it was.

Jess swallowed hard. It didn't matter. He wasn't about to stand by and let Mike pay for everything Jess had done wrong. For Pete and for Sally. Now for Timmo. He'd known the kid was about to fall apart, and he'd left him there in that cabin with a razor in his hand and those bodies in the other room and the weight of their blood on his conscience. Now that weight was added to the burden Jess already carried.

He'd told Daisy there wasn't anything he could do anymore to protect her and Mike, nothing he could do to help them, but maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe there was this one thing. This one last thing. If nothing else, if he couldn't overpower Trent, he could force him to use that razor right now. Then there would be no reason for him to hurt Mike or anybody else to cause Jess pain.

Dead men felt no pain.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know this is short, but after the previous chapter, some of you were worried about what was going to happen next. I thought this would help. **


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Jess felt the race and roar of blood through his veins as Trent pressed the razor more firmly against his throat. One way or other, he'd end things. Right here. Right now.

"How do I know Mike and Daisy are even here?"

"I told you, I got 'em tied to that post." Trent shoved him forward, not relaxing his hold. "I got 'em trussed up like turkeys, but they're there." He pushed Jess to his knees. "Go on and tell for yourself. Mind the lantern."

Jess hadn't even thought of there being a lantern out here, but of course Mike would have brought one out when he came to see to the horses. Daisy might have brought one out herself, too. He couldn't see them, but he put his hand out, still with Jim Mitchell's razor pressed flat to his throat, and found a wool coat sleeve.

"Mike?"

The boy squirmed a little, but he couldn't move much. He couldn't make more than a few low sounds against the heavy cloths that gagged him.

Jess ran his hand up to his hair and tousled it. "You all right, Tiger? Just nod."

Mike nodded vigorously.

"Okay. Good. Hold on now. I'm gonna get you and Miss Daisy outta this. Daisy?"

It took Jess a few seconds more to get to her. She was tied with her back to the opposite side of the post, gagged like Mike was. Jess found the back of her coat collar and then squeezed her shoulder.

"Miss Daisy? Are you okay?"

She nodded, too, and tried to talk, but the sounds she was making seemed more angry than afraid. She wouldn't be very happy if she knew what he was thinking on doing. Maybe it wouldn't come to that. _Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me_ . . .

Trent yanked him back to his feet. "Satisfied?"

"Come on, Trent," Jess pled. "You don't wanna do this. Look at him. He's just a little boy. He never hurt you nor nobody else. You're a father. How can you think of your own boy and want to hurt another kid?"

Trent's hand shook. "You don't know what it's like. You don't know how it was when I came back to that cabin and saw Timmo layin' there with his eyes open and lookin' at nothin' and his skin white as death and his blood everywhere."

His breath was coming in gasps now. Could be he was bleeding out himself.

"You don't want to do this," Jess told him again. "It won't bring Timmo back. He couldn't stand what happened up there, and he'd be ashamed to know you did more killin' on account a him."

"No," Trent growled, clinging to Jess now in an effort to stay on his feet.

"Miss Daisy there's a nurse. She fixed up my pard back in the house so even the doctor said there warn't no more he coulda done. She can help you. You ain't got the strength to do anything anyway. I can feel it."

"I can still cut your throat, boy," Trent panted in his ear. "That don't take much strength."

"I said you ought to go on and kill me if you were set on it. No need bringin' the boy into it. Just don't do it in front of him."

Trent's breath shuddered out of him, and for a moment it seemed his hold was loosening.

"No!"

The blade bit into Jess's skin once more, deeper this time, making the blood flow warm down his neck.

"You ain't killin' my son and walkin' away free, Harper. You're gonna know what it's like. Maybe you can't see it, but you'll be able to hear it. I'm gonna take the gag off a that boy, and let you hear every scream. I'm gonna— gonna—"

The razor jerked again and then tumbled down the front of Jess's coat and to the ground. Trent slid down behind him.

"Trent?"

"Gonna kill him," Trent muttered, struggling to get up again. "Gonna kill him and let you hear it. Let you live with it all the rest of your life, like I gotta live with my Timmo layin' there the way you left him."

Jess knelt beside him, trying to find his hand somewhere in the darkness, trying to see how bad off he was now.

"Trent? Where's the razor? Where'd it fall? I'll get it and cut Daisy loose. We'll take you into the house. She can help you."

Trent cursed him. "I don't want her help or yours. You've already done for me. But you still ain't out a this. I'm gonna kill you, Harper. I'm gonna kill you yet."

"Where's the razor?" Jess pressed, feeling around him on the ground. "You ain't in any shape to make threats now. There ain't any use in 'em anyhow."

Trent began to wheeze and struggle for breath. Jess didn't have to see to know what that meant.

"Now ain't the time for revenge, Trent," he urged. "Now's the time to make peace with yourself and with God."

"Gonna kill you, Harper. Gonna kill you and see you in hell."

"Trent—"

Trent arched his back, kicking his legs with a low cry and the clatter of whatever he'd knocked over, and then he slumped back to the ground and was still.

Jess exhaled heavily and used his coat sleeve to wipe away the sweat on his upper lip. Trent was dead for sure now. It was over. It was all over. All he had to do now is find that razor and get Daisy and Mike free and get them back into the house.

He patted his hands in widening circles around him, mindful of not grabbing hold of the open blade should he come to it.

"Mike?" he called. "Daisy? Trent's dead. Let me find this razor and cut you loose."

He was still feeling around on the ground when he heard Traveller nicker and start shifting on his feet. The other horses were suddenly restless, too. Then he smelled it, just a whiff of smoke and the crackle of fire in the hay. Trent had kicked over a lantern. With his last breath, he'd had his revenge.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed the story. I'd love to know what you think.**

**Just kidding! Don't kill me. **

**There will definitely be more as soon as I can write it. **


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Fire.

Jess felt the leaden weight of dread settle into the pit of his stomach. Please, dear God, not fire. Not fire.

His search for the razor grew more rapid, more frantic. He'd already lost most of his family in a fire. He couldn't let it happen again. Not now. Not because of something he'd done. Trent wouldn't have been here if it weren't for him. He couldn't let Mike and Daisy die for that.

"Where is it?" he panted, still patting the ground around where he'd been standing and then shoving Trent's body over in case he was lying on it. "Where is it!"

Traveller nickered again. Alamo answered him, and so did two or three of the other horses. They were restless in their stalls, trapped. Trapped like Daisy and Mike.

"Please, God," he breathed, the sudden sweat pouring from him, chilling him in the increasing heat. "Please, show me. Help me."

There was nothing under Trent. He'd have to try to untie Mike and Daisy, but he'd never have time to get them free, not without his sight.

"Please. Please, I need to see."

In answer, there was a sudden roaring whoosh and a rush of heat. Likely a bale or two of hay had caught. Maybe he could find something to push over that way to keep the fire from getting to Mike and Daisy until he could get them out. Or maybe he could somehow make a fire break, make sure there was nothing around them but dirt.

Jess turned his face toward the heat and blinked his stinging eyes. He wasn't sure, but he thought there was a dim flicker of orange before him. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked again. It wasn't much, but it was there, a little brighter now. The color made his head ache, but he stared into it, willing it to brighten into actual light.

"Oh, please—"

He turned toward where he thought Mike and Daisy must be, and he could see the faint yellow flicker of a lantern still alight. Maybe that would be enough to let him untie those ropes. He moved unsteadily toward it, wishing he knew what had happened to the walking stick he'd brought into the barn with him. There was no time. No time.

"Mike!" he called. "Hang on, Tiger. I'm comin'."

He could hear the crackle of the flames. Closer now. Hotter. There was no time.

"Please," he breathed, and then he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. He'd stepped on something. He patted his hands over the ground and then saw the tiniest glint of orange light on metal. The razor. Remembering it was still open, remembering he could see only faint bits of light, he took careful hold of it and snapped it closed. Then he made for that small wavering glow, the lantern that had to be close to Mike and Daisy.

The heat was almost overwhelming now. The horses were whinnying and banging against their stalls.

"Traveller! I'm comin', boy. I'm comin'. Stand easy now."

_Please, God, don't make me choose. Help me get 'em all out._

Mike was only a few unsteady steps away. Jess opened the razor and grabbed the rope that was wound around Mike's body. He slipped his left hand under it, holding the rope away from the boy, and then he put the razor under it, too, turning it toward himself so he could cut Mike free.

The rope quickly gave, but Mike's hands were tied with a different line, and Jess had to grapple with the knot.

"I'm hurryin', Tiger. Gotta get Miss Daisy out, too."

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face and ran, stinging, into the cuts on his throat. The roar of the fire was closer now, the heat itself painful, but he forced himself to stay calm. More on instinct than anything else, he glanced toward the fire again.

It was brighter now, and he could see a little variation in the light, actual individual flames. He dashed the back of one hand across his eyes and saw that little flicker of lantern light there beside him. He saw the lantern, too. Not so clearly yet, but he could make out the soot-blackened metal and the glint of the glass. His breath came a little faster, a little harder.

"Got you now, Tiger," he said as the last of Mike's ropes came free. Then he moved to Daisy's side and started on her bonds. Quicker now. Surer.

"I'll get the horses out," Mike said once he'd pulled off his gag.

"No!"

"But Jess—"

"I got a more important job for you." He couldn't let the boy stay in here a minute longer. "I just about got Miss Daisy loose. You gotta get her out and into the house. Can you do that?"

"Sure, Jess, but—"

"No, buts. I gotta be sure I can count on you." Jess was sawing through the ropes on Daisy's wrists as fast as he could, struggling to breathe as the smoke got heavier. "You gotta see she gets inside and stay with her," he panted. "Don't come back. Promise me. I'll see to things out here."

"But, Jess, you can't—"

Jess glanced at him for one brief second, met the boy's tear-filled blue eyes, and gave him an encouraging nod. "I can see a little. Enough to do what I need to. But I'm trusting Miss Daisy to you. Understand? Do I have your word?"

Mike nodded rapidly. "I promise. I swear."

"Okay then." The last of Daisy's bonds snapped and Jess pulled her to her feet. "Daisy, you get Mike inside and stay put. I'll be right after." She tried to pull off her gag, but he pushed her toward the door. "That'll wait, Daisy! Get him out! Go on! Do like I told you, Mike!"

Mike grabbed her hand and ran with her into the black square that was the barn door. Jess hurried further into the barn. It was darker here, and he could see almost nothing.

"Traveller? Where are you boy?"

Traveller whinnied in reply, and Jess rushed into his stall to cut his halter rope and back him out.

"Go on now!" he said, giving him a hard swat on the rump. "Get out!"

Traveller didn't balk at the flames. He ran straight out into the yard, and Jess sent Alamo after him.

"Get on, boy! Go!"

The light was closer now, brighter, and so were the flames. Gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face, Jess went from stall to stall cutting the horses free. He could see little more than the whites of their terrified eyes, but he managed to run them out. All but one.

The little black mare in the last stall huffed and danced in her panic. Even after Jess cut her free, she wouldn't budge.

"Come on now."

He shoved her back with his shoulder. The fire was already consuming the post Mike and Daisy had been tied to. If Jess didn't get out now, he was never going to.

The mare danced sideways, refusing to leave the stall.

"Move!"

He shoved again, and she tossed her head and neighed.

"Boy!" This was the mare he'd come down out of the hills on. Timmo's horse, he was sure. "Come on, Boy. Please."

The far side of the barn was coming down now, the timbers groaning as they fell. Jess grabbed the saddle blanket that was hanging over the side of the stall and put it over Boy's eyes. What little sight he had now was dimmed again by the thick black smoke that surrounded him. He pulled his coat up to cover his mouth and nose and ran with Boy through the door and out into the yard.

"Jess!" Daisy called, hurrying to him from the porch.

"No, Aunt Daisy!" Mike tried to pull her back. "I promised we'd stay here! I swore!"

Jess staggered toward them, one arm draped over Boy now. "It's all— all right— Tiger," he wheezed. "Daisy—"

He slid down to his knees, and Boy ran over to the corral fence where the other horses were huddled together.

"Go get some water, Mike," Daisy said as she ran to Jess.

Mike scurried into the house.

"Daisy," Jess breathed, sucking down the cold, fresh night air, and she caught him before he could topple face down in the snowy yard. "Daisy?"

"I'm right here, dear," she said, easing him to the ground and settling his head in her lap.

"Are you— Are you all right?"

"Oh, Jess. Are _you _all right?"

She stroked the hair back from his forehead, and he thought there was nothing more beautiful than her sweet, worried face looking down on him.

"Don't cry. We can put up a new barn."

"Don't you be silly, Jess Harper. I'm not crying."

A cough tore through his raw throat, but he managed to grin. "You can't fool me anymore, Miss Daisy," he croaked, and he reached up to wipe a tear from her pale cheek.

"Oh, Jess. Oh, thank God. You _can_ see!"

"Sure I can," he wheezed. "A little now." He coughed from deep in his chest. "I can— I can—"

"Shh, dear. You're all right. Just breathe. Shh."

He closed his stinging eyes, still coughing, still feeling the heat from the barn as the fire consumed it and the body that lay within.

"Jess?"

Daisy's voice sounded very far away now. He struggled to answer her, but somehow he couldn't manage to.

"Jess."

He couldn't open his eyes.

He could only give in to the darkness.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is a special surprise present for Nakoosay's birthday! Thanks for your support and encouragement and overall greatness. I hope you have the very best birthday ever!**

**To everyone else: Tomorrow my little vacation will be over and I have to be an adult once more, so I probably won't have chapters this close together again, at least not for awhile. I hope you've enjoyed this story. Just a little more to go now. I really appreciate all of you who have stayed with me this long. Thank you!**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The first thing Jess realized was that he ached all over. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He was curled up on one side with the blankets pulled nearly over his head. Something warm and weighty lay across his throat. It moved when he coughed.

"Jeremiah," he croaked, reaching out, but the cat slipped through his hands, offended, no doubt, at being disturbed.

Jess opened his eyes just a crack and then screwed them shut again, groaning at the sudden brightness. Then he remembered, and with sudden grateful tears, he opened his eyes again, blinking into the shaft of sunlight that fell across his bed, sucking down deep, trembling breaths of cold, clean air into his smoke-battered lungs, unable to hold back a wide, foolish grin and a low, wheezy laugh. Light. Glorious light. _Oh, help of the helpless . . ._

"Thank You," he whispered.

He still hurt all over, but that didn't seem to much matter now. He could see. He was alive. Mike and Daisy were alive. Slim—

Wincing at his complaining muscles, he managed to turn over and look at the bunk across from his. Slim was there. He was asleep, breathing slow and even, but he was there. If Daisy had moved him away from the hearth, he must be doing better.

Jess frowned suddenly. Daisy would never have been able to move him herself. She would never have been able to get Jess inside and into bed. His face turned a little warm when he realized he was wearing nothing but his longjohns. He knew, with all the times she'd doctored him, she'd seen him in less, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. Like the lady she was though, she was always good about never referring to such things.

Still, it puzzled him how he and Slim both had ended up in their proper beds. His frown deepened when he realized there were a lot of voices outside in the yard. Men's voices mostly, but there were a few that had to belong to women and some even to children. He shook his head, thinking he was still a little foggy in the brain, but that didn't make the voices go away. It only made him a little dizzy.

"Well, you did decide to come around."

Jess squinted toward the bunkroom door and saw Mort coming toward him. He smelled more than saw the coffee the sheriff brought with him.

"You about slept the clock around, boy," Mort said. "How are things lookin' today?"

Lookin'. That foolish grin came back to Jess's face as he sat up.

"Dadgum good, Mort," he said, taking the cup from him, enjoying the sight of the coffee as much as the smell and warmth of it. "How's Slim now?"

"Dr. Hanson came and went a couple of hours ago. He said all you both need now is rest."

"Good."

Jess took a drink of coffee and coughed from the burn of it down his raw throat. Mort came and sat on the bunk beside him, thumping his back as if that was going to help anything.

"It's all right," Jess wheezed. "Still got some smoke in my lungs I guess."

"Yeah, the doc said you might be a little growlier than usual for a while. I suppose we can live with that."

Jess's smile faded. "I guess the barn's gone, hay and everything. Worst time a year for it, too."

"Burnt to the ground. I was headed to town after talking to Len and Pete about comin' here to help out while you and Slim are laid up, and I saw the fire. I got them and hightailed it back out here. I helped Daisy get you inside and put to bed. Len and Pete put out what was left of the fire. This mornin' they came back with some help to get the mess cleaned up."

"Dadgum," Jess muttered, raking one hand through his hair. "Slim's gonna dock my wages for at least a year for lettin' his barn burn down."

"Now, he's not and you know it."

"I can't seem to bring nobody nothin' but trouble, no matter how hard I try."

Mort shot him a hard look. "How do you figure any of this is your fault?"

Jess looked down into his coffee cup, seeing more than was there. Pete lyin' dead in the doctor's spare room. Sally and her ma and pa cold and still and laid out in their cabin. Timmo on the floor still strapped to that chair, starin' into nothin', bled dry. Mike and Daisy and even Traveller and Alamo nearly burning to death. Slim buried in the snow, dying, abandoned—

"Because he's a durn hardhead, that's why."

Jess looked over to the other bunk and saw Slim scowling at him. "I thought you were asleep."

"I haven't done anything but sleep since I can remember," Slim said. "And how I'm supposed to sleep with you two in here jawin' and half a Laramie out in the yard, I don't know."

Jess tried to look out the window, but he couldn't see much from where he was. "Yeah, what's goin' on out there anyway, Mort?"

"Well, right now Miss Daisy's feedin' everybody who came from town to help put up a new barn. We've been workin' hard all mornin'. I'm surprised you two slept through it."

Jess blinked at him. "What?"

"Hey," Slim said, ginning and leaning up on one elbow. "That's good of 'em. Real good. Daisy told me there'd been a fire. Guess I hadn't figured yet on what to do about it."

"You got a lot a good friends, pard," Jess said. "And I'll figure out some way to pay for the lumber. Might take me a while, but—"

"All seen to, boy," Mort said.

Jess gave him a puzzled look.

"Slim's not the only one who's got friends. It may have taken 'em awhile, but there ain't any of 'em doesn't know what you've done for us all."

"I don't—"

"Pete and Len Dixson were headed for the gallows until you and Slim set 'em straight. You sending Trey with me and his pa likely saved his life, and don't think Dan and his wife don't know it. Mr. Simpson at the bank, he's the one payin' for the materials to rebuild the barn. He says it's little enough to repay you for stoppin' those outlaws from cleanin' him out and for gettin' the rest of his money back for him."

"But all those things just happened that way. I didn't—"

"And all the other things, Pete Chandler and the Mitchells and whatever else you think is on your conscience, they just happened that way. Not because of anything you did or didn't do."

Jess ducked his head, and Slim had to lean over a little to be able to look him in the face.

"If I'd gone after those outlaws without you, Jess, I'd be dead right now. And Dan or Trey or Mort along with me. Maybe all of 'em. Even without being able to see, you took care of me, you got away from those killers and got help. I told you before, I trust you with my life. There aren't too many I can say that about."

Mort nodded. "And there's a reason you're the first one I come to for deputyin'. Not because you're not a dad blasted hothead liable to go off any second, but because there's nobody I'd rather have backin' me in a fight. Durn hardhead, you blame yourself for things you have no control over and can't see all you do to help folks out when they're in trouble."

Jess swallowed down the sudden tightness in his throat. "But you and Slim, you've both pulled my fat out a the fire more times'n I can count. I can't— "

"And you've done the same for us," Mort said.

Slim nodded. "And for Daisy and Mike and just about everybody else we know. I told you a long while back, Jess, this place wouldn't be the same without you and your troubles. I don't think any of us want to know what that would be like. It sure wouldn't be like home."

Home.

Jess felt the sudden warmth in his face, but he also felt it in his heart, melting away all the pain and guilt he'd been carrying there since this whole nightmare had started.

"Slim," he began, and then there was the clatter of little boots running through the house and into the bunk room.

"Sheriff Mort! Sheriff Mort!"

Mort scowled as Mike ran into the room. "Here now, boy, didn't Miss Daisy tell you to keep quiet while Slim and Jess are tryin' to sleep?"

Mike beamed at him. "But they're not asleep now. Hi, Slim! Hi, Jess! Are you feelin' better?"

"A lot better, Tiger," Jess said, returning the boy's tight hug.

"I'm gettin' there," Slim added.

"Aunt Daisy sent me to ask you if you want to come eat now, Sheriff Mort," Mike said.

"I see you're both awake," Daisy said, coming to the bunkroom door. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt anything if you ate in here, sheriff."

"Me, too?" Mike asked.

"Yes, I suppose you, too. Why don't you come help me bring in the food."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Mike darted out of the room after Daisy, and Mort shook his head.

"They were both pretty upset when they thought you were leavin', Jess."

Slim sat up a little more, his expression turning hard. "Leavin'?"

Jess's face got warmer. "I just thought, well, when I couldn't see, I figured—"

"Here it is," Daisy announced, coming in with two plates of food and with Mike behind her carrying two more. "There you are, Mort."

"Thank you, Miss Daisy," Mort said, eyeing the ham and potatoes and corn with obvious pleasure.

Daisy handed Jess a plate.

"Thanks, Daisy."

Mike put a plate on the chair between the two bunks so Slim could get to it, and then he got up on Jess's bed and sat as close to him as he could with his own meal. On the other side, like the accomplished ham thief he was, Jeremiah wriggled his way up next to Jess's hip, just waiting for an opportunity to ply his sly trade.

Daisy smiled on all of them. "Is there anything else you want, Jess?"

Jess looked around the room, around home, and hid a smile of his own. "Thanks, Daisy, but I can't think of a single thing."

THE END

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the honest to goodness end. I hope you've enjoyed the story. Please let me know what you think. I love hearing from you. Thanks so much for reading.**


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